Kid Fears
by robinmuffins
Summary: Carol Chamblers was a ghost in Derry, an average face in a dirty little town. Things were off, her friends were fading away, and summer has arrived. But when evil rises, Carol is drawn to seven others who must stand together and defeat an ancient entity, for themselves and for each other. They must face their deepest, darkest fears, or else they will all float down below...
1. Life Is Never Kind

**"Kid Fears"**

**Part I:**

_"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."_

_-Stephen King_

* * *

Chapter 1: Life Is Never Kind

_"Friday night and everyone's moving_

_I can feel the heat but it's soothing, heading down_

_I search for the beat in this dirty town."_

_-Kim Wilde, "Kids In America"_

* * *

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The clock was mounted high upon the wall, glaring down mockingly at the impatient cluster of two dozen children who were fidgeting in their seats, frustrated that the time seemed to pass by in slow motion. Every passing minute felt like five as they listened to their instructor, yet they were ecstatic at the prospect that they would soon be free of it finally in all due time.

Up in the front row, two seats from the door, sat Carol Chamblers, an average face amongst an average class in a white trash school in a dying American town. She sat in her seat, silently and annoyed, as she listened to their Social Studies teacher drone on and on, unimpressed. She could detect the sound of her classmates' excited and anticipated whispers as the clock read 2:55 P.M. However, it was the sound of the ticking that resonated the loudest in her ears.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"I hope you all have a wonderful vacation," she vaguely heard Mrs. Watson saying. Wonderful? That would be an overstatement. Surely she could see that things in Derry were not even remotely wonderful at all? But no, Mrs. Watson was an adult, and like all other adults in their rotten town, they either couldn't care less or they kept on smiling.

She overheard that four-eyed Tozier what's-his-face make some wisecrack joke to a kid next to him, presumably on the comment, which didn't earn as much as a snicker. The ticking of the second hand seemed to thunder in the compact classroom.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Carol?" She raised her head up slightly as Mrs. Watson stared at her expectantly. "What are you doing for summer vacation?"

She was aware that several eyes in her vicinity were glued to her. _Shit._ Not wanting to attract any more attention to herself, she mumbled, "I don't know."

Either Mrs. Watson was satisfied with her answer, or she just didn't care, because she moved on to badgering the next person about their vacation plans. Carol had already glanced back down at her notebook, which lay open in front of her, the current page peppered with the lead of her pencil as she tapped it up and down.

A rapid finger prodded her from behind, and she rotated to be face to face with her friend Marcella Stebbins, who was making several hand gestures and mouthing words that Carol didn't understand. Craning her head toward the back of the classroom, she tried to catch the eye of her other friend, Priscilla Petrie, for some kind of explanation, but the girl just shrugged and returned to fidgeting with her wristbands.

Marcie, growing impatient, took out a post-it note and scribbled something on it, then passed it to Carol. It read: _"Betty Ripsom's mom is here."_

She turned around again and gave her a quizzical look, incredulous at how she could have attained such information at the moment. Marcie pointed to the window on the other end of the classroom, which had a clear view of the street, where a familiar Mrs. Ripsom was exiting her vehicle.

_Oh._

It wasn't the first time Betty's mom had ever come to the school of her missing daughter, who had disappeared back in December. It was sad, she supposed. Betty had sat next to her in English, and she had been nice enough. But it had become old news by then. Carol shrugged her shoulders in a "so what?" motion before facing the front of the room again.

She went back to her notebook where, amidst her doodles, notes, and excerpts from favorite tunes, she began to jot down the lyrics to Bananarama's "Cruel Summer".

_Hot summer streets_

_And the pavements are burning_

_I sit around_

_Trying to smile but_

_The air is so heavy and dry_

The clock continued to tick, the minute hand moving as slow as molasses in January. She tried to drag her focus away from the time and onto the lyrics pouring out of her pencil onto her paper, hours of listening to her Walkman and radio engraving the words into her brain.

_Strange voices are saying_

_Things I can't understand_

_It's too close for comfort_

_This heat has got_

_Right out of hand_

To her left, the boy next to her was anxiously thrumming his fingers against the wooden desktop. It was quick, urgent, and completely out of tempo with the beat reverberating in Carol's mind. She did her best to blot out the noise and retreat into her own world as she reached the chorus.

_It's a cruel, cruel summer_

_Leaving me here on my own_

_It's a cruel, cruel summer_

_Now you're gone_

Carol enjoyed music, and had a profound love for writing down the lyrics of the songs she had memorized. There was something poetic about the wordings, always a deeper meaning. Whenever she got a song stuck in her head it would stay there, crying to be let out and replaying like a broken record until she caved and recited the words on paper. They were scrawled throughout her notebook, along with several drawings that she had created during class time when she was in danger of falling unconscious. Most of the time, the songs stuck in her head reflected on the thoughts and emotions she was perceiving at the time.

"Cruel Summer" echoed in her mind because in only a few minutes, school would conclude and she would leave the seventh grade forever. Although she couldn't deny Derry Middle was a literal hellhole, she hated summer with a passion and out of all of the seasons, it was her least favorite. It was a time where every street corner was bustling with activity, places of entertainment became hangout centers for kids with no schoolwork to hold them back, and insects clouded the muggy air. Most parents practically locked their kids outdoors in the overwhelming heat to play, which might have been more tolerable if you actually had friends to play with. And if you were lucky enough to stay indoors, more often than not you would find yourself bored out of your mind.

That was how most of Carol's summers went. The only things she had to look forward to in the insufferable weather were the occasional get togethers with her friends and the freedom of the burdens of school. To her, it was just another intolerable three months before the law demanded that she plop her ass back down in her seat at school and have monotone, stern faced teachers shove piles of papers into her hands.

Oh, but ain't that America? Wasn't that how that John Mellencamp song went?

It was going to be a cruel, cruel summer indeed. And Carol predicted it would be the loneliest one yet.

As she finished recording the lyrics, Carol risked a glance up at the taunting hands of the wall clock, which displayed that it was 2:59 P.M. School would be concluding in less than a minute. Unfortunately, it did little to remedy her dampened spirits or relieve the burdensome pressure from her shoulders.

She returned to the pages of her notebook, taking in her random drawings and songs for a final time. Although she'd probably never trash the material, she would most likely stash it in the depths of her closet, within the shadows where she would close the door and have it enveloped in darkness. To be forgotten.

When the bell did ring, it blared throughout the building with shrill finality, bringing joy and relief to the ears of many. Carol simply gathered her books and walked out the classroom door, never bothering to say goodbye or wish a good summer to any of her peers. She never interacted with her grade much, or any kids for that matter, only trusting and conversing with the small group of friends she committed herself to.

Carol survived school by following a simple rule she had obeyed since early childhood: don't take _any_ risks. She chose to isolate herself from her schoolmates because social interaction meant attention, and not all attention was welcome. Unwanted attention meant the spread of demeaning rumors throughout the school that caught on like wildfire. She knew how such fires ruined people's reputations, just ask the Marsh girl. (_There was a rumor halfway through the school year that Carol and the members of her particular friend group were all involved in a polyamorous relationship, but it had started as a joke and that fire had died out as quickly as it had caught on_).

Carol had also managed to avert ever been bullied. She had never once been targeted because she never gave a reason to have a target put on her back. She avoided drama, involving herself in business that didn't concern her or her clique, and _never_ put herself out there. Her reasoning behind her logic was that she was never going to talk to any of these people or even remember them in her adult life except for her friends, so why bother interacting with them? So what if it didn't make her popular? It wasn't like her status was going to be on her job application someday, so she was perfectly content on being on one of the lower rungs of the popularity ladder.

When in doubt, it was always safer to stick to the shadows.

In fact, Carol had been so successful in following her rule that anyone outside her social circle barely even registered her existence half the time. She never really had a reason for people to remember her; she was quite average looking and never hung with any of the popular folk. It was actually quite a relief, because this meant she could be as _herself_ as she wanted to be, and nobody would even care. She was free of peer pressure and the need for conformity that most teenagers and prepubescent children were burdened with.

Carol maneuvered her way through the crowded, bustling hallway until she managed to reach her locker. Inside were her plethora of school books and binders, of which she would either discard or pack away once she got home. She began shoving said items into her bookbag when she noticed another of her friends, Estelle White, come up from her peripheral vision.

"Hey," she greeted, never taking her mind off her task.

"Hey Carol," Estelle replied, all smiles as usual. "I was wondering if you might be doing anything this weekend? Marcie, Priscilla, and I were all thinking of going to see a movie Sunday."

Zipping up her bookbag and slinging it over her shoulder, Carol asked, "What about Tabitha and Debs? Are they coming too?"

Estelle's happy demeanor dissipated, worry and guilt clouding over her soft brown eyes at the mention of the other two girls. "I already talked to Tabs," she replied hesitantly, "and she says she doesn't know. I mean, I get it if she doesn't wanna, and I get it with Deborah too." She perked up as an idea evidently came to mind. "Maybe you can talk Debs into coming?"

She shrugged. "I can try." But something inside her told her that Deborah Reese would not want to. Her friend had been a shell of her former self for the past three months. And as for Tabitha Amherst… she still avoided interaction within their social circle whenever possible. They were all affected by the events that plagued Derry for the past few months, but Tabitha and Deborah most of all.

She didn't know if the others felt it, but Carol could sense her and her friends slowly drifting apart. Even though they were going to see a movie Sunday, they wouldn't all be united. The fact that the group were doing activities incomplete was just one of the warning signs, and over the last half of the semester, she felt the rifts continue to grow. Now, with summer upon them and not being able to see each other every day, she foresaw the already feeble bonds binding them together finally breaking. And when the bonds broke, the walls Carol and her friends built up around them to protect themselves would also crumble.

And it terrified her.

Estelle said, "Alrighty, we'll be outside by the front when you're ready to come out."

Carol nodded as her friend walked away. "See you later, Stelle." She slammed her newly emptied locker shut and marched down the hall, barely registering when someone bumped into her accidentally. Further along, she noticed a quartet of older boys lingering on her left, and her heart pounded in her chest as she recognized Derry's most feared group of baddies: Bowers and his gang.

Almost everyone in school had been bullied by the infamous Bowers Gang at one point or the other. There, standing against some lockers and eyeing each passerby like vultures hovering over a dying animal, were the Big Bad Four. The whole nasty box set: Henry Bowers, the head honcho himself, from whom the gang earned their name (_how humble_); Reginald "Belch" Huggins, the brute force who provided the getaway car; Victor Criss, the wannabe greaser who carried out his boss's dirty work in silence; and Patrick Hockstetter, Derry's resident pyromaniac and psychopath, the creepy kid who kept dead flies in his pencil box.

Although Carol had never been personally targeted by the gang before, she certainly did not want that to change. The most interaction she ever had with any of Bowers & Co. was leaving school one day, when she had unintentionally made eye contact with Hockstetter. The elder boy's face erupted into a disturbing, chilling grin, leading Carol to look away immediately and keep walking as if that brief moment had never occurred. It wasn't just his smile that put her on edge, for his eyes were beady, glinting maliciously, and she had felt them on her back as she had departed.

None of them were right in the head, but Henry and Patrick were the most messed up of all.

Cautious as she passed, she carefully maintained her pace, focusing her sights straight ahead and avoiding any eye contact. Luckily, Henry and his goons never cast so much as a small glance in her direction. She wasn't worth their while, and she was perfectly content with that.

Her interest piqued when she noticed Greta Bowie make a beeline for the girls' bathroom, looking royally ticked off. She wondered what was the Queen Bee's mission of the day. Probably to trample some little girl's sandcastle with her best friend, Sally Mueller. Whatever dirty business it was, Carol made a mental note not to get involved in whatever drama was stirring up in the bathroom stalls and strolled right on past. It didn't concern her.

Upon exiting the school, Carol quickly found the faces of Marcie, Estelle, and Priscilla waiting amidst the throng of students. Her friends, like herself, were also not particularly popular in Derry, mostly sticking to themselves and hanging out only with each other. None of them had ever really dated, except for Tabitha, who went out on a date with Ted Harris once, and Estelle, who ended a turbulent three day relationship she had with Bradley Donovan (_Stelle had called him "a real jackass" after that_).

As for herself, she had never been romantically involved with anyone, and at the moment, she wasn't especially interested in pursuing a relationship. The most serious crush she ever had was back in early elementary on Roderick Everly, and she had carved RE + CC in a heart on a light pole near Derry Elementary, running away with electric butterflies in her stomach.

She hastily made her way toward them, just as she spotted Tabitha stepping outside the front doors. Her friend was looking particularly sullen, her brown eyes hollow and a discouraged frown on her face as she joined them.

"Hey Tabs," Carol greeted. "You good?"

Tabs didn't even force a smile, instead just staring down as she murmured, "I'm fine." Bologna. That was a lie if Carol had ever heard one. She would know, she used it almost every day.

Priscilla glanced around, puzzled. "Where's Deborah?" There was concern apparent in her voice for her absent friend.

"I think she already went home," Tabitha answered, taking a sip from the Coca Cola she clutched in her hand. None of them were too surprised, but were disappointed all the same.

"There's Betty's mom," Marcie stated out of the blue, gesturing over to where the tired, drained woman was standing by two police cars in front of the school with a hopeful look in her eyes. "This is the third day in a row she's come to the school."

Tabby glanced in the direction with a despondent expression. "That's so sad," she whispered.

"I feel so bad for all the missing kids," Pris added, sympathetic. "Betty, Matthew Clements, that little boy George-"

"If you're gonna list off all the names of the missing kids, it'll be sunrise when you finish," Carol interrupted dryly. They all knew who had disappeared and did not need to be reminded, especially when some names hit too close to home for a few. Usually, she used her sarcasm and dry sense of humor to smooth over tense or edgy situations.

"By the way Tabs," Estelle started as they walked away from the building, "could you or Carol try to talk Deborah into coming to the Aladdin Sunday to see a movie with us? You know, so the whole group can be together and stuff?"

The silence that ensued was thick and heavy as the increasing humidity of approaching summer; Carol was practically choking on it. She and Priscilla shared an awkward glance, each silently affirming to the other the thought that must've been processing through each of their minds at the moment. Priscilla finally said, "Maybe we could maybe hang out sooner. Is anyone free tonight?"

Carol, Tabitha, and Marcie all shook their heads, Estelle being the only one who was not occupied. "I just feel like going home, guys," Tabitha muttered. "I'll see you Sunday." The others said goodbye, but their friend was already walking off in the direction of her house by herself.

With their group gradually drifting apart, it was terrifying to see Tabitha slipping away from them. Tabs, in a sense, was like their leader. She was the glue of the group, the person the others looked up to in times of doubt. Deborah isolating herself from the others already left a deep enough gouge in the frail, feebly beating heart that their circle of seven had become, but now…

"I should probably get going, too," Carol informed the others, desperate to escape the discomfort she was perceiving and changing her direction to the bike rack, where she had parked hers. "See y'all Sunday."

"Bye Carol," the remaining three called in unison.

As she walked off, she couldn't help but feel guilty and yet simultaneously relieved at abandoning her friends like that. Their companionship dated back all the way to their elementary school days, when Carol had first moved to Derry, but she was made uncomfortable by the brokenness of the group. She guessed it just wasn't the same without the whole gang there.

She reached the bike rack and freed her means of transportation. Her bike, which she called "Stardust", had been a beloved possession of hers since she was eleven. It was a faded pastel red color, the leather seat worn down by years of riding and the metal parts only sporting a dusting of rust. Many kids said that the stuttering Denbrough kid had the fastest bike in all of Derry. Bologna to Carol, hers was the speediest of demons. And if her bike wasn't faster than Denbrough's, she could probably beat him on foot.

The only thing she was remotely known for in school was for being the fastest girl in town. During P.E. class, when the teacher had them do a jog around the track, Carol outdistanced them all. She could have gone faster, but she didn't want _too_ many kids to notice her talent. It was the only time when people who didn't normally give a second thought about her watched her in a mixture of awe and envy.

While changing after one of these classes, Carol overheard some girls- Betty Ripsom and Veronica Grogan, she believed- whispering about her.

_"Why is that one girl so fast?"_

_"She's not that fast…"_

_"Seriously? Did you see her? She was running with the boys!"_

_"Wait… who is this?"_

_"Carol. Carol Chamblers, I think."_

_"Oh, you mean Carolyn?"_

_"No, Carol."_

_"Carol can be short for Carolyn."_

_"I'm pretty sure it's just Carol."_

It was the only time she ever felt grateful for people gossiping about her. Then again, it was the only time she had ever eavesdropped on someone gossiping about her. After gym class ended though, she continued to simply go on existing as she had never received the attention in the first place.

Hopping on Stardust and pushing on the pedals, she began to ride out of the school parking lot. She barely made it ten feet before she almost engaged in a head on collision when a boy walking his bike stepped out in front of her. Carol instinctively skidded to a halt before plowing him over, almost exclaiming _oh shit!_ in surprise.

The kid nearly leaped out of his own skin, almost dropping his bike and whatever he was holding as he reacted to the close call. His eyes were wide with stunned terror as she was only inches away from him.

Carol exhaled deeply from relief, startled as well. She did not want to cause an accident in the school parking lot not even ten minutes after school had ended. "Jesus, kid," she muttered to herself.

"Sorry," the boy apologized hurriedly, fumbling with the cords of a Walkman. It looked very similar to her own, except his was a more dull red and appeared slightly beat up and scratched. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," she agreed sarcastically, looking at him closely. He was about her age and vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place a name to his face. He was on the chubby side, had light brown hair, and was a few inches shorter than her. Yeah, she definitely didn't know him very well. His eyes were alert, as if he were abruptly jerked out of a daze. "Try not to daydream where there's moving vehicles next time, kid."

The boy blushed a furious shade of red, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish's. Bingo, she had struck home. "I- I won't," he spluttered, openly embarrassed and nervous.

"Stellar," she said, suddenly wondering why she was talking to some random kid she didn't even know in the first place. There was something about the boy with the Walkman that caught her interest. She better leave though, before she violated Her Rule any further. "Drive safe." Before he could answer, she swerved around him and pedalled down the street in the direction of her house.

Since November, Carol chose biking home rather than walking. She preferred it anyway, having her long brown hair tousled by the wind as she flew past, buildings, cars, and pedestrians whizzing by. Plus, it meant she got home quicker, even though she secretly enjoyed riding around Derry. It was a favorite outdoor pastime of hers when she had nothing to do.

Not far from the school, a telephone pole with a sheet of paper posted to it caught Carol's attention. Pulling herself over for a closer look, she noted that it was a missing child poster, a girl's face in black and white in the center under the dreaded bold words that seemed to echo around the streets of Derry for the past few months. Recognizing the child fully, she pulled up to a complete stop and walked her bike over to the pole. The girl's smiling, colorless face beamed back at her without emotion. It was a poster she had seen much too often before:

POLICE DEPARTMENT

CITY OF DERRY

**MISSING**

DONNA REESE

13 YEARS OLD

LAST SEEN APRIL 4

Description: Born July 4, 1975 Female, 13 yrs. Height: 62 inches Weight: 101 lbs. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wearing navy blue striped t-shirt, denim shorts, gray sneakers.

Donna Reese, the seventh member of their circle. Deborah's twin. She had went with her sister down to the Barrens, forgot her bike there, went back, and never came home in time for supper, or any meal after that. The police had searched for her before giving up about three weeks in and, like all other children that vanished in their small town, were seemingly forgotten and discarded like old toys.

She supposed Donna's sudden disappearance was the cause of all the complications occurring within their clique currently. The news of her vanishing had left Deborah in a rigid state of shock, from which she never fully recovered, and Tabitha had fallen into a hopeless, almost depressed mood that she struggled to pull herself out of. With one member missing, it had ripped a vital artery, leaving the other damaged six to support a weakened heart.

Carol missed her. She missed the others. And she missed the way things used to be, when everything was simpler and there was no danger of her being alone. Tearing her gaze away from the bold words and a presumably dead girl's face, she continued her long ride home.

It was about a ten minute journey from the school to Carol's house by bike, cutting the time walking the distance by well over fifteen minutes. She turned left onto the street where she lived and continued to pedal down until a familiar home appeared. She pulled up into the driveway, her mood slightly uplifted by the sight of the house. It was a modest residence, nothing too spacious or elegant, yet not like the dingy apartments on the other side of town. She walked Stardust up to the porch before letting it crash down, climbing the steps and entering the house through the front door.

After locking the door behind her, Carol set down her bookbag in the corner where she always kept it. She noticed her dog, a bull terrier named Spock, resting in his usual spot in front of the television set. Glancing around, she searched around the living room and surrounding areas for her grandmother.

Carol's parents, Daniel and Lucille Chamblers, travelled often for their work. Born in Bangor and spending her earliest childhood years in Castle Rock, she did not cope well with the constant change of scenery as her parents dragged her along with them as they were always relocating. Eventually, they left her with Lucille's mother, Ethel, more and more often. As Carol grew older, they discussed what would be best for her: moving with them every few months or so, or staying with Lucy's mom in Derry. After many talks and arguments, they reached the conclusion that it was healthier for their daughter to settle down somewhere and make some real friends for a change. So, when she was eight, Carol moved in with her grandmother permanently, only visiting her parents for breaks and holidays. Due to complications with work, however, this was going to be the first summer she spent without ever seeing her mother and father.

She made her way into the kitchen where her grandmother was washing some dishes in the sink. Ethel Perkins appeared how most people would imagine a grandma to be: curly gray hair, a smiling face and eyes, rather large glasses, etc. However, unlike most women her age, Ethel was unusually tall, hovering over her granddaughter at five feet, eight inches.

Carol always wondered why her parents sent her to live with Grandma Ethel rather than her grandparents in Ludlow. Their town was mostly country, with beautiful scenery and retro houses that had large properties surrounded by dense forests. She supposed it was because ever since her Grandpa Eustace died, her grandmother had been rather lonely. And anyway, her Grandma Florence and Grandpa Norman were frequently down at their summer house in the Carolinas.

"Hey Grandma," she greeted upon entering the kitchen.

She turned around from the sink to face her granddaughter, a naturally maternal smile on her face. "Hi Carol. How was school today?"

This was a conversation that grandmother and granddaughter recited after the latter came home every day. The elder would ask her how her day went, and the younger would say it was okay. The elder would ask her again if _she_ was okay, and the younger would say that yes, she was. It was almost as if their lines had been rehearsed.

She shrugged dismissively. "It was okay."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. Or maybe it was because she felt she had to be surprised. "Nothing happened on the last day?"

"No, not really," Carol replied.

Ethel fixed the teenager with a quizzical look. "Are you okay, Carol Denise?"

Out of her mouth, she repeated the worn out excuse that Tabitha had used earlier that day. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Her grandmother nodded, accepting the answer as she finished cleaning the dishes. "Okay, sweetie. Dinner will be ready at five-thirty; I'm making grilled cheeses and and tomato soup. After that, you can watch one of your movies."

Carol and her grandmother had an easy, simple relationship. Grandma Ethel never bothered her, always stayed out her business, and never involved herself too much into her "social life". But she also didn't realize when there was something wrong with her granddaughter, or perhaps she didn't want to believe there was. She sensed Ethel Perkins still saw her as her precious, innocent, joyful little Carol Denise, even when she had reached thirteen years of age. She loved her grandma, and the feeling was mutual, but she worried that she was one of the half of Derry adults who pretended that all its problems weren't there. The ones that kept on smiling.

"Okay. I was actually wondering if I could call Deborah right now?" Estelle's request rang in her ears, and she really did want to see how she was doing.

"Oh, of course!" Ethel replied. "That Deborah is such a nice girl." Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "So was Donna." She gave Carol another smile, more sympathetic this time, before brightening and heading to the laundry room.

Carol, however, stared off in the direction the older woman had gone, reflecting on the last thing she had said.

_"That Deborah is such a nice girl. So was Donna."_

_Was._ That dreaded word that she heard more and more as the months past. _Was._

Turning around, she made her way over to the opposite end if the kitchen, where the phone hung mounted on the wall behind the table where the two residents ate their meals. Originally, they had a phone on the other side of the room, but the position was relocated because Carol made a habit out of sitting on the counter as she conversed (_"Don't do that, Carol Denise. That's not good for the countertop."_). She dialed the Reese's phone number and put the piece up to her ear, leaning against the wall as she waited for someone to answer.

_"Reese residence, Barbara speaking."_

"Hey Barb, it's Carol," she informed. "Is Deborah there?"

_"Yeah, just wait a second."_ Through the phone, she could hear Barbara yelling for the younger Reese to come to the phone, Carol was there. She waited patiently for a few seconds until another person grabbed the phone and said, _"Hello?"_

"Hi Debs. We missed you after school today."

_"Oh yeah, sorry."_ She noted the exhaustion and slight confusion in her voice, as if she were dazed or extremely tired. _"I just kinda wanted to get home as soon as I could."_

"It's okay," she said. "Listen, Estelle mentioned to me that we were all going to the Aladdin Sunday to see a movie, and I wondered if you'd be interested?"

There was a thick pause that ensued, and for a moment she thought that maybe Deborah had left the phone entirely. After several painful seconds, she heard the voice on the other end say, _"I can try to be there, but… I don't know, I might have stuff to do that day."_

A few miles away from where her friend stood, Carol narrowed her eyes. "But… it's summer."

_"I told you, I'll try to make it. It just… won't really be all of us, will it?"_

Carol understood what Deborah was trying to explain. She didn't enjoy hanging out with the gang because Donna wouldn't be there with them, and it hurt having a gaping hole in their group. Plus, there would just be too many memories of when Donna _was_ with them, and of course it would be hard on her sister. On her _twin_ sister, at that. Sometimes, some scars just didn't fade.

Inside, Carol was glad at least someone was remembering Donna, when so many others locked her up and pushed her aside, as if she was just some sort of bad memory. In a way, she guessed she was.

"Oh, okay. I completely get it," Carol assured. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. I don't think Tabitha has completely made up her mind yet, either. Talk to you again?"

_"Sure."_

"Alrighty then, bye."

_"Bye."_

She hung up the phone, putting it back in the cradle, and gently hugged her stomach. She was feeling quite queasy at the moment, her insides uncomfortably light and fuzzy. _Floating,_ a voice in her head suggested, although Carol was not sure where she got that comparison from. Lately, she had been experiencing feelings of nausea and even threw up on occasion, although she knew for a fact that she wasn't sick. She decided to go to her room, where she could lie down and hope that the feeling would pass.

Carol entered her bedroom, shut the door, and plopped down onto her bed. Her Walkman, journal, and The Beatles t-shirt were cast carelessly on the soft surface, and she planned to put them away in their correct positions when she got up again. As she lay on the bed, she grabbed her favorite childhood toy, a stuffed badger named Frances, and gazed around the walls of her room.

It was a simple, modest bedroom for a young teenager. The plain colored walls were decorated with posters of _The Breakfast Club,_ David Bowie, _Star Trek,_ and other singers, movies, and shows that she enjoyed. Her cluttered desk was on the other wall opposite of her bed, several drawings she had spent dedicated time on pinned to the wall above. She had a miniature bookshelf where she kept her literature, which consisted of an even amount of fiction and nonfiction. A radio, alarm clock, and framed photo of her family sat on the nightstand next to her bed, and her mirror was adorned with many Poloroids of herself and her friends. As her vision zoned out, Carol got to thinking.

As her group gradually fell apart, she was dawning upon an increasingly clear realization. Soon enough, everyone in their little clique would go their own separate ways, willingly or not, and Carol would be left alone. The thought of it terrified her beyond perception. Her friends were her safety net, the only thing that kept her from being lost in the shadows of her own self-isolation. In this case, her careful rule of _stick to the shadows and don't take _any _risks_ was going to backfire on her, as her friends were the only people in Derry, beside her grandmother, that actually appreciated her existence. And she couldn't open herself up to her other peers, because that would be violating the very rule that had saved her skin through all the years. No matter what she did or tried to do in the end, she would end up alone, all by herself with no one and nothing to protect her from the cruelties of the outside world that she had barricaded herself from. She would wander the world as a ghost, just existing and soon forgotten like the children that seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth every other day.

What would happen if she went missing? Would her friends fall apart, or would they go to the movies and pretend she was still with them? Would Grandma Ethel stash her away as a bad memory, or would she wait for her outside the school doors, a pathetically optimistic gleam in her eyes as she clung to a strand of hope that she was in there the whole time? Or would she be forgotten by all of them as she suffered whatever fate had befallen her, left out in the woods somewhere to die an unknown death alone?

The queasiness that had bedridden her developed into nausea, the coils of her intestines and her stomach twisting in a sickening manner. Sweat beaded upon the surface of her undoubtedly paling face as bitter bile rose in her throat. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled out the door hastily to the bathroom across the hall, closed the door, and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet as if it were her shrine. She raised the lid and, pulling her hair back away from her face, retched into the toilet until the disintegrated remains of her lunch spewed into the previously pristine waters of the bowl.

Carol sat there, crouched over the toilet, her breathing heavy and unstable as tears moistened her eyes. She never cried though, just stared down in the once clean water as she flushed it down, watching as her vomit was sucked out of sight. The thundering sound of the flush reverberated in her head and ears painfully as she still didn't budge, trying to steady her breathing and regain control of her senses.

As the water returned from the drain, she noticed that it wasn't clear and clean like it should've been, and her immediate thought was, _I clogged the toilet with my own vomit._ But as her head cleared, it took her less than a second to realize what it actually was.

The water that was rising was mixed heavily with blood, deep crimson plumes blossoming out of the dark hole of the drain and up to the surface, where it ballooned out like a mushroom cloud. More and more kept entering the bowl until the water was thick with it, the liquid a dark red, almost a maroon color. The roaring sound of the flushed toilet was deafening and morbid as the bloody, contaminated water swirled around, staining the porcelain white interior scarlet…

_…The fuck?_

Carol didn't hesitate as she slammed her hand down on the handle again, desperate to flush the crimson horror back to wherever it came from. She didn't even wait to see if the blood went down, finding the strength in her legs and bolting out of the bathroom. She dashed through the house until she reached the laundry room, where her grandmother was prepping damp clothes that had just come out of the washer for hanging up on the backyard clothesline to dry.

"Goodness gracious, honey!" Grandma Ethel exclaimed, looking up in stunned surprise at her granddaughter's horrified face. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

_I am a ghost,_ a voice echoed in the back of Carol's mind, and the random thought jolted her out of her speechless state. Rediscovering her voice, she said, "I was lying in bed and my body did that fake fall thing." She vaguely wondered why she was lying, but went with it anyway; it came easy to her and flowed freely off her tongue without much thought. She forced a shaky laugh, but there was not an ounce of humor in it. "It scared the bejeezus out of me."

Her grandma, still shocked, smiled nervously. "Oh, if that's what it was. Jesus hon, you startled me! Don't scare your old Gran like that, or you'll give her a heart attack."

"Sorry," she apologized. Her heart was still racing at an impossible speed in her chest, thumping so intensely she feared the organ would burst and _she_ would be the one with the heart attack. "What time is it?"

Her grandma fixed her with a puzzled look. "Well, it's only been twenty or so minutes since you came home, dear. After the laundry is done, I will start on dinner, if you're that hungry."

"Okay, thanks." Although despite throwing up what remained of her lunch, she really wasn't starving at all. She really just wished for something to distract herself from the bizarre horror she had just witnessed not even minutes before. "I guess I'll be in my room again."

"Okay sweetie, just make sure you don't do the fake fall again," Ethel joked.

She promised "I won't" before heading back to her bedroom. That time when she shut the door, she locked it, still shaken by the bathroom incident. Blood didn't just rise up out of the toilet, did it? She supposed it wasn't impossible, but it was still a disturbing and rather gross experience. Where did all that blood come from anyway? The sewers? That seemed to be the only logical explanation. _Nothing about this seems logical at all, though,_ she thought, becoming more perplexed the more she lingered on it.

Maybe that's why adults tried to pretend things were all fantastic when they weren't. Because they couldn't understand it.

Sitting down on her bed, she grasped her red Walkman and plugged her earbuds in, hoping that music would chase her troubles and fears away. She turned the volume up to stifle the sound of the thunderous beating of her heart, which seemed to rack her entire body with shivers. Curling up into a ball, she listened with her eyes wide open as "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama drifted from the speakers and echoed in her mind.

* * *

**AN: I hope you all have enjoyed the first chapter! This took over a week of revising and proof reading, but it was worth it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Regardless of how this story is received, I plan on continuing it, because I enjoy writing it that much.**

**This story will be based off the 2017 adaptation and its sequel, but I will also be incorporating what I remember from the novel and 1990 miniseries as well. Of course, it centers around my OC, Carol Chamblers, although I will include other perspectives as well.**

**I first conceived the idea of writing an It fanfic around September when _It: Chapter Two_ was coming out, but never started writing this until the very beginning of the month. Originally, I first conceived my OC Carol when planning a different It fanfic called "The Missing" which consisted of several OC oneshots. I got really into writing her character and began to wonder what her life would've been like upon befriending the Losers. Thus, "Kid Fears" came to mind.**

**While I got the idea in September, I didn't start writing for months because I thought I could do better. There are several OC stories in this fandom and I wanted to conjure something more original. However, stories containing OCs seem to be heavily accepted in this community, and several stories inspired me to write my own. These stories include, but are not limited to: Winchestergirl123's "Floating On Air", i am cloud's "Bright", Connie Hooper's "Inevitable", Hermione Romanoff's "Dealing With Being A Loser", and Harleyqinnzelz's "Mad World". Check their stories out, they're amazing!**

**If you have made it this far in this ridiculously long author's note, warnings for this story include: Death, violence, gore, explicit language, bullying, racism, homophobia, sexism, different forms of abuse, suicide, and homicide. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable in any way, I highly recommend not reading this story.**

**While this chapter is rated Teen, it may change to Mature later on. Additional information on "Kid Fears" will be posted under "News" on my Bio.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _It_, which belongs to Stephen King. I only own my character Carol Chamblers and the other original characters I create along the way.**

**~ Robin M.**


	2. Hot Summer Streets

Chapter 2: Hot Summer Streets

_"The city is crowded_

_My friends are away_

_And I'm on my own_

_It's too hot to handle_

_So I got to get up and go"_

_-Bananarama, "Cruel Summer"_

* * *

Carol opened her eyes slowly, adjusting her sight to the blinding morning sun pouring through her bedroom window. She was curled up securely under her airy summer sheets, grasping her sunken pillow tightly underneath her head. Groggily, she sat up, staring out the sun-filled glass pane on the opposite wall. Her room felt shockingly warm, much more so than the previous night, which had been rather cool for June. Once she felt strength returning to her body after waking from a poor night's sleep, she climbed out of bed to head to the kitchen.

Even from the hallway, Carol's nose could already detect the alluring aroma of the pancakes that her grandmother was preparing for breakfast. Stepping into the kitchen, she saw Ethel hunched over the counter, a plate piled with already half a dozen of the delicious pancakes, more in the process of being flipped on the griddle. A bottle of maple syrup, carton of orange juice, and bowl of whipped cream were placed in the center of the table.

"Morning Grandma," she announced, making her way over to her seat.

"Good morning, Carol," the older woman said with a smile. "I already have some breakfast made for you, if you want to get a head start. I whipped up some cream for your pancakes as well as a kind of summer treat."

"Whipped cream for breakfast?" she wondered out loud, taking a glass and pouring herself some juice. She was not much of a sugary kind of person, and her grandma knew that.

"I thought you might like a little something special to start off your first day of summer break," Ethel responded, flipping some more pancakes. "You can eat out in the living room as you watch your morning television, if you like."

During the school year, Carol never had the time nor the luxury to watch TV in the mornings, for her routine mostly consisted of getting up, eating breakfast, getting ready, and arriving at the school as quickly as possible. Over breaks, however, she frequently enjoyed chowing down while watching her favorite programs on the television in the living room. It was one of her favorite privileges that her grandmother allowed, as long she was cautious not to get any crumbs on the floor (_which she never did_).

Her home life might not be perfect, but at least she had a kind and tender guardian, which some children she knew were unfortunate enough to lack.

The young teen grinned. "Thanks Grandma," she said, grabbing a plate and helping herself to some pancakes, applying the maple syrup and whipped cream to them as well. She never overdid it though, as too much sugar always gave her a stomachache, and the last thing she needed was to throw up _again_.

Heading into the living room, she took her seat on the couch, her designated spot, and turned on the TV with the remote. She scrolled through the channels, hoping to catch one of her favorite morning shows. In front of the television set, her dog Spock was snoring in his regular spot, his head resting on his small white paws.

Back when she was younger, her grandmother had a great big mongrel that she called Scooby, after the dog in her favorite childhood cartoon. Scooby had a rather friendly and gentle disposition, and young Carol would enjoy walking him up and down the street as Grandma Ethel watched from the porch. After he died of old age when she was eleven, the same year she had gotten her bike Stardust, the bull terrier Spock had entered their lives. She came up with the name when her grandma brought him home as she was watching_ Star Trek_ reruns in the living room. Spock was more lively and active than Scooby had been, and she enjoyed racing her newer pet down the sidewalk when she felt the need to burn off some energy.

She continued to flip through the channels until an old episode of _The Twilight Zone_ appeared on the screen. _Bingo! The Twilight Zone_ was one of her favorite shows, along with _Star Trek_ and _The Addams Family_. Carol took a scoop full of soggy pancakes and whipped cream with her fork as she listened to the deep and foreboding voice of Rod Serling welcome her:

_"You're travelling through another dimension. A dimension, not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone!"_

Then the screen changed to show the episode "Nightmare At 20,000 Feet", where William Shatner was on the airplane and the gremlin would be out on the wing outside his window. Although she had seen the episode many times before, her eyes were glued to the television screen nonetheless as she slowly munched on her breakfast. She would watch an episode or two, and then she would change and get ready for the day.

As sunlight began to pour increasingly through the living room window to her left, Carol stole a glance to the outdoor world on the other side of the glass pane. The street and surrounding areas were not at all crowded, save for Mrs. Crowley in her front yard watering her petunias and Dave Gardner from a few blocks down walking his German shepherd down the sidewalk. Just another day in Derry, Maine.

After she had finished watching and breakfast, she snapped off the TV and headed to her bedroom. Her room was definitely toastier than the day before, so she decided to dress in preparation for it being excessively hot. She made her way over to her closet, looking its wooden folding doors up and down.

She had been afraid of her closet ever since she was a little kid. As a young girl, she would request that her grandmother make sure it was shut completely every night and that no monsters or bad men were inside, just waiting for the opportunity to pounce. It had been her greatest irrational fear as a child, but to Carol, there was nothing irrational about it. As a child, monsters hiding in the closet had seemed perfectly possible.

She recalled one night when she woke up to notice the closet doors open a sliver, revealing the concealing darkness inside. She had cried and cried, wailing her grandma's name, and the older woman had come in as fast as she could on her tired, stiff legs. She had insisted that Grandma Ethel investigate, and the woman obliged, only to find that the shadowy compartment was empty, save for her belongings. Her grandmother told her that there was nothing to fear, that there was no one out there that would ever hurt her, and told her to go back to sleep. Carol had been nine at the time.

Ever since that incident, she had developed a phobia of her closet, and closets in general. She only used the space to hang her clothes that couldn't fit in the crammed drawers of her dresser and for storage, stashing away all the items that she didn't have a problem with forgetting, which was what occurred unless she opened the doors. It was a place where she stored her memories that would be forgotten, covered under dust and cobwebs in the deepest, darkest part of her mind. Even now, she stared at the white doors with apprehension and unease. Closets held monsters. Closets held shadows.

Closets held secrets.

She opened the doors, regardless of her childhood fears, and picked out a t-shirt and jean shorts to wear. _That should be good enough for the heat._

As she began to undress, she looked into the mirror at her gradually evolving appearance. Purple bags seemed to have established themselves permanently under her bloodshot eyes. Her skin was paler, despite being out in the June sun, and her cheekbones appeared more defined than usual. She wondered how her grandmother was failing to notice this change as she was, but then again, it might have been too gradual to really detect. She pulled up her jean shorts, noticing that they felt looser on her than they did the last time she had worn them. She guessed her meals were not doing a good job at securing her weight when she threw them up at what was becoming every other day.

Carol recalled what her friend Estelle had told her back in the fifth grade about people stricken with radiation sickness. She said that the victims, before dying of the illness, would start throwing up mass amounts of blood and flesh, along with a variety of other horrible symptoms. Later, Carol found this to be untrue, but victims of radiation exposure did vomit. She once again stared into the mirror, wondering how close she resembled said victims. It made her shudder in disgust and awe-like horror.

Shaking off that anxious thought, she pulled over her t-shirt. She decided that she would bike around town, maybe grab an ice cream, and pick up some movies to watch later that evening.

After putting up her hair, Carol went over to her bed and pulled her pack off the edge. Her pack was like a smaller bookbag, and she never went anywhere without it. Inside, she would stuff it full of the things she needed and might need on her trips into town: money, a flashlight, a walkie talkie, her pocket knife, a bottle of water, her Walkman, etc. Often, she barely found it necessary to use these items, but better safe than sorry. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed out of her room.

In the kitchen, she heard her grandmother cleaning up dishes from breakfast, which she usually did before getting ready for work. Although she was nearing retirement, Ethel Perkins still worked three days a week as a cashier in Freese's Department Store.

"Hey Grandma, I'm going out," she called, heading toward the front door.

She heard the elder woman reply, "Okay, Carol. Be back before four."

"I will," she responded before stepping out onto the front porch, to where Stardust lay by the porch steps. Immediately, she was blasted by a scorching blaze of heat. It took her by surprise, for it had not been nearly as unbearable the day before. She groaned inwardly. _It's only, like, nine in the morning…_

Hopping on the worn leather seat of her bike, she pedalled down the driveway and off into town. Sweat was already oozing down her forehead and arms as she biked down her street, heading for downtown. She was astounded by the intensity of the weather; a heat wave must've rolled in during the night.

Riding along, her mind suddenly jarred a memory into her train of thought. Maybe it was because the road she was now on, Witcham Street, was one she had ran down five months ago, but the image in her head was not welcome and filled her with the same uneasiness she had felt that very night.

_It was November second. Carol was over at Tabitha Amherst's house for her belated Halloween party, where they watched _Halloween_ and _Psycho_, the movies being the highlight of the evening. Around eleven o'clock, the gathering ended and the group of seven went their separate ways. Carol did not ride her bike to Tabitha's, so she was left with no choice but to walk home in the dead of the night. Not that she minded, she was perfectly cool with it._

_"I don't know how you could do it," Tabby told her and the others who didn't have a ride, "especially with that little boy missing."_

_At first, the walk home went normally. The street was empty and devoid of life, making an eerie yet peaceful setting. She embraced the shadows, the dimly lit surroundings soothing to her and almost aesthetic in a way. Only in the back of her mind did she ever recall the missing boy, George Denbrough, as she strolled along humming "Beat It" by Michael Jackson._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure standing on the other side of the street. The man (_she figured it was a man_) was tall and rather odd looking in the little lighting that Carol's eyes perceived. His hair glinted unnaturally orange in the dimness of a faraway streetlight, and his clothes were excessively baggy, the sound of bells jingling gently in the still night air. It took Carol a minute to recognize that the shadowy figure was dressed in all-out clown attire._

_The clown was dancing. It was a peculiar number that involved many side steps, jerks, and his body contorting in various ways that Carol didn't recognize. She slowed down her pace to catch a better glance at this odd spectacle, wondering what on Earth this guy was doing dancing in the street in the middle off the night. _It's past Halloween dude, you've missed you're shot,_ she judged silently._

_The longer she stared, the more off and disturbing the clown and his dance seemed to her. All of her instincts told her to run or walk away quickly, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself when she had managed to avoid it so far. She began to pick up her pace slightly when the clown's head jerked in her direction._

_The clown, upon seeing her across the street, began to smile, big and wide, eyes lighting up with joy. Silently, not uttering a word, he beckoned her to come across the street._

He wants to dance_, Carol thought to herself._

_(_and then we'll float_)_

_But she didn't want to. There was something sinister and wrong about the clown, a poorly disguised look of malicious delight in his_

_(_golden_)_

_eyes. Alarm bells were ringing inside her head, telling her this thing was evil, like the kind of monster that hid in your closet and waited till all was dark and you were sleepy before snatching you from the safety of your bed and dragging you into_

_(_the sewers_)_

_the shadows. She couldn't exactly explain how she knew this, but she was detecting a nefarious aura lingering around the mysterious performer. Ignoring the clown, she continued her tread home, hoping that her shift in pace wasn't too noticeable. She never dared to look behind her, but she felt his_

_(_its_)_

_eyes on her back as she departed, chills of dread tingling her spine as she sensed the disappointment, the frustration in the glare. It was almost inhuman. _Maybe it is, _she thought._

_When she was out of the clown's sight, she ran, ran as hard and fast as she could until she reached her house, bolting inside and locking the door. She had difficulty sleeping that night, for fear that the clown would be at her window outside, waiting. Or worse, her closet…_

Ever since that eventful November night, Carol never walked to or from anywhere, always taking her bike when out alone or with her friends. The memory of the clown was so distant yet vivid, and for some reason that she couldn't comprehend, when she thought of it, certain names came to mind. Names like Betty, George, Veronica, Matthew, Cheryl, and Donna. Needless to say, she didn't go out at night anymore, either.

As she reached the center of town, listening to "Magical Mystery Tour" by The Beatles on her Walkman, she noticed how packed and bustling the area was. There was a long line waiting in front of the Aladdin Theater, and the park was thick with parents, their little ones, and teenagers alike hanging out in the late morning sun. She passed multiple buildings- the synagogue, the library, Freese's Department Store, the Derry Drug- and was discouraged to find the majority of these centers were crowded with mostly children, relishing the freedom of their first day of summer.

_What the fuck? Shouldn't most of you be sleeping in?_

What hurt the most about these sights was that almost all of the children were with their buddies, their comrades, their friends, and they were having a better time than her. Most of them didn't have to deal with missing girls, or groups slipping away, or the fear of being alone slowly becoming a reality. These kids were probably going to have a great summer, a blast, and here she was, biking around town like a lost puppy with no friends.

A loser.

_Oh, well._ She'd just to go somewhere else to enjoy her free time and return later to pick up her movies. Pushing hard on the pedals, she rode Stardust onward toward the outskirts of Derry.

The rising sun scorched her back and scalp uncomfortably as she pedalled on in the insufferable heat. Derry's outskirts mostly consisted of farmland and country roads, seldom visited by many of the town's residents. However, Carol enjoyed riding her bike there, for she could acheive peace and quiet as she gazed at the fields of corn, soy, or whatever the hell farmers grew in Maine.

As she continued, some buildings, such as barns, appeared in the distance. She was entering the agricultural sector of Derry. She was careful not to inhale the scent of crop dust and manure as she basked in the picturesque landscape and, unwillingly, the hot air.

_This heat bites,_ she thought irritably, relenting and pulling over to the side of the road. She climbed off her bike and unzipped her pack, stuffing her Walkman inside and taking out the bottle of water she had brought with her. Then she checked her watch. It was almost noon, meaning she had about four hours left before she had to be home. She'd rest there for a while, listen to some more music, and then head back into town to the video store.

Uncapping her bottle, she took a swig, rejoicing as the cool water ran blissfully down her parched throat. She resisted the urge to drink too much though, for she had to conserve it for the rest of her trip.

Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed someone biking up the road in her direction. She didn't think much of it, for the person would probably pass her by, like most people did in the world.

As the biker got closer, she grasped a better understanding of who it was. It was another kid her age whom she vaguely recognized. The boy was dark toned, wearing a white t-shirt, and the basket of his bike appeared to be holding some kind of raw meat. As the distance between the two closed, he glanced over at her, confusion and a little concern clouding his face.

Carol slipped her water back into her pack. The kid would pass her by. They always did.

However, as he neared her, he slowed down until he was only a feet feet away. Then, he pulled up to a complete halt and hopped off his bike. For a few moments he just stared at her, utterly perplexed. Then, after an agonizingly long pause, he asked, "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, slightly surprised that he had actually spoken to her. "Yeah, I'm just peachy," she replied, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not, blinking drops of sweat out of her eyes. Her skin felt like burnt toast, and she was cursing herself out internally for forgetting to pack sunscreen.

"You look like you're about to get heat stroke," the boy observed, eyeing her closely.

Carol unzipped her pack again to display her half-filled bottle of water. "I got fluid." To be honest though, it already felt warmer than when she had first taken a drink. _Welp._

Instead of responding, he glanced up at the clear blue sky thoughtfully. He remarked, "This heat wave's gonna last a while."

She followed his gaze upward, trying to locate what he must be seeing. "How can you tell?"

"My granddad told me," he said, looking back down. "We live on the farm down the road."

"I know. You're Mike Hanlon, the farmer's son. My grandma knows your family." Her grandmother had told her a few times about the Hanlons, who were one of the few black families that lived in Derry and had the most successful farm in town. Carol herself had seen the Hanlon boy on his runs into town, but she had never interacted with him before.

"Who's your grandma?" Mike inquired.

"Ethel Perkins. She works down at Freese's."

He must've recognized the name, for he said, "I didn't know Mrs. Perkins had a granddaughter."

"My parents burdened her with me when I was eight," she informed him, conjuring up the saddest jazz hands she could muster. "Surprise, I exist."

Mike actually smiled at that. _Bingo._ Then he pointed to her. "I like your shirt."

Carol glanced down at her Rosie the Riveter t-shirt, which was heavily dampened with sweat. "Oh. Thanks." She was not used to getting compliments from complete strangers. It was already a lot that he put a pause on whatever task he was doing to talk to her and found her pitiful jazz hands amusing.

Neither of them said a word after that, the two kids standing in silence in the pathway of the scorching sun. There was a few second pause before Mike stated, "I never got your name."

"Carol Chamblers. I was yesterday in the seventh grade at junior high."

"I've never heard of you before," he admitted, looking slightly guilty, as if he should've.

She shrugged it off. She learned not to take it too hard when people didn't know her, for it occurred more often than not. "Not many people have. I usually just hang out with my friends and that's all." She rolled her eyes with exaggerated humor. "And I have very few friends at that." Then she paused, wondering if she should mention the dilemmas that she was facing to this kid. She wasn't exactly following Her Rule, which banned almost all potentially risky social interaction with her peers, yet here she was, conversing with a boy she barely knew.

She didn't know why, but talking with him felt comfortable, like it had with the kid with the Walkman the day prior, however brief that moment had been. It was like they were already well acquainted, or good friends. I might as well, no one else is gonna hear it. "One of my friends went missing back in April."

Mike's gaze softened, looking at her sympathetically. "Which friend?"

Carol looked down, avoiding his eyes. "Donna Reese," she mumbled.

He nodded slowly in understanding. "I think I know her." He sounded solemn. "Is she one of the pretty twins with the strawberry blonde hair?"

She nodded. "My group's been kinda falling apart since then."

It was then Mike's turn to look down and avoid her gaze. "I don't have many friends," he confessed.

It was at that moment that Carol realized this Mike was very similar to her, in the sense that they were both outsiders. She guessed not many people bothered to come up and talk to him either, which was how things were with her. It was almost a relief to know that she could relate to someone that wasn't one of her friends, whose interests and social lives were the same as her own.

"I'm a bit of a ghost at school," she told him, hoping to distract him with her own story. "Not many people probably even know I exist; I'm kinda just there."

"You have it lucky then, being a ghost. I wish I didn't get the attention I receive," Mike said, his voice melancholy. "What I mean is I… I get bullied a lot."

Carol knew that the Hanlons were not exactly the most popular folk in town, often the target of racial discrimination as it were Georgia in the eighteen-sixties rather than the eighties in Maine. Not that she ever got involved though, because she never got involved with anything.

It made her sad that Mike was friendless, something she saw happening to herself in the not so distant future. A sentence of assurance clung to the tip of her tongue, and she wanted to say, _I could be your friend, if you like._ Rather, she scrapped that and asked, "Is it true that you're homeschooled? I know you don't go to the middle school, that's for sure."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I go to Sunday school, too." He threw a glance over his shoulder at his bike, discarded at the side of the road with the raw, reddish flesh still in the basket. "I better get going to the butcher shop before that meat spoils."

"Alrighty." She knew their conversation couldn't have lasted forever, and time had flown by while they were talking. "See you around, Mikey. Drive safe."

Mike grinned. "See you later, Ghost."

_Ghost_. It was the first time someone outside her clique had ever given her a nickname. Even if it was a title she used frequently to describe her unpopularity and isolation, why not wear it with pride? It was true, anyway. She gave Mike a thumbs up and a "peace out" sign as he climbed back on his bike and pedalled down the road in the direction of town, out of sight.

Once he had fully disappeared in the distance, Carol glanced at her own bike, thinking that she better get into town soon, as most kids were probably taking a lunch break and it wouldn't be as busy. She took her Walkman out of her pack again and put it in the basket, plugging her headphones in. She rode Stardust back to central Derry, listening to Kim Wilde's "Kids In America" and John Mellencamp's "Pink Houses" along the way.

…

By the time she reached the main part of town again, she was playing David Bowie's "Starman" at full volume. It was almost an hour past twelve, and kids were finishing their lunches and clustering around the sidewalks again.

Carol rode up to Derry Video & Entertainment (_which was like a small-town ripoff of Family Video_) and skidded to a halt. She slipped her Walkman back into her pack and grasped her money before heading inside, a rush of cool air freezing the sweat on her skin.

She immediately made her way over to the Horror and Science Fiction section, her preferred genre of film. Her favorite movie of the following genre would probably be _Halloween_, but she had seen it many times before and wanted to rent something she didn't watch as often. She scoured the shelves in search of a good watch, grazing the covers of the movies with the tips of her fingers. Without thinking, she found her hand picking up a VHS copy of _Night of the Living Dead_.

Carol studied the cover, which depicted the main characters and the ghouls that tormented them throughout the film. She had seen many of George A. Romero's movies, such as _Night of the Living Dead_ and _Dawn of the Dead_, and while they were all very good, she didn't watch them often because the zombies unnerved her. Personally, she found the concept of the dead returning to life and feasting upon the flesh of the living to be quite horrific, and being eaten alive by what used to be human beings had to be a sickening and agonizing way to go. Plus, it was just the fact that they looked _so dead_, with their rotting skin and clouded eyes. Once again, her mind was drawn back to her appearance in the mirror that morning.

Tentatively, Carol put the movie back on the shelf, deciding to find something different to watch. Scouring the shelves again, she picked up a copy of _Alien_. She vaguely recalled watching part of it at the Reese's house over the fall, and while the alien was terrifying, it didn't give her as vivid nightmares like Romero's movies did. She decided to check that one out, along with _Jaws_.

To her right, she observed a group of three boys, also in the same section, trying to decide on what horror movie they wanted to watch that night. It was then that Carol felt a pang, observing the obvious friends interact, when she herself was there alone. The boys were about her age, and she reckoned she had them all in at least one of her classes the previous school year. They were so absorbed with each other, they didn't even notice her standing not even five feet away.

She wondered if she caught fire, right where she stood, and if they would notice her then. _Nothing like a little spontaneous human combustion to make me stand out._

She was staring at the trio so intently that she failed to reach down in time as the movies she was holding slipped out of her sweaty grasp. _Dammit,_ she cursed herself internally at the clatter they made in the quiet store, picking them up hastily. As she reached down, she felt her eyes burn from sweat or tears or both.

One of the boys shot a quick glance into her direction, before turning his attention back to his companions.

_At least I know I'm worthy of a glance,_ Carol told herself sarcastically. _That's good to know._ Straightening up, she grasped her chosen movies tightly as she walked past, overhearing snippets of the boys' conversations.

"No no Rich, I am not going to watch _The Thing_-"

"Why not?" the other boy asked, sounding amused and appalled, while the third just continued read the cases with a neutral expression on his face. "If you're too much of a pussy-"

"Of course I'm not, dipshit. I just-"

If she wasn't feeling so lonely at the moment, she may have openly laughed at their bickering.

Carol checked out her movies at the register and exited the blissfully air-conditioned store, putting the films in Stardust's basket as she finally headed home in the increasingly hot weather. The trio in the Derry Video lingered in her thoughts the entire trip there.

As she reached her street, she spotted a little boy riding a bike with training wheels near her house. It was her nine year old neighbor, Curtis Crowley, who lived four houses down.

"Hey, Carol!" the younger boy called as she neared her residence, biking up to her.

She gave him a smile. He was one of the few people she knew of that she took pleasure in talking to. "Hey, Curtis. What're you doing?"

"Just trying out my new bike," he replied, grinning. "My mom's making cookies inside."

"Sounds delicious," she commented, getting off Stardust and taking the movies out of the basket.

"Whatcha got there?" the boy asked, gazing at the two films with curiosity.

She held out the VHS copies for him to see. "_Alien_ and _Jaws_. I'm gonna watch them tonight."

Curtis looked at the covers, eyeing them warily. "I saw a part of _Jaws_ on TV once. My mom let me. What's_ Alien_ about?"

"Exactly what it sounds like: an alien. See here?" She pointed to the cover, where below the title was the caption, _"In space, no one can hear you scream."_

Curtis' eyes glinted with uncertainty. "Is it scary?"

"Yeah kid, it is. It kills people and stuff."

"Is it green with big, black eyes and travels in a-"

"It's not like those aliens, Curt. Not by a long shot," she interrupted, not wanting to go into too much detail about the dynamics and all the morbid aspects of the film. Instead, she began to walk her bike up her driveway as she said, "Ask you mom about it. She'd be better at explaining it than I." Really, she just didn't want to be the one responsible for giving the kid nightmares. "See ya, Curt."

As usual, she let Stardust fall to the ground in front of the porch steps before heading inside through the front door. Upon entering the house, Carol noticed her grandmother's absence in the living room. She must have still been work, for she came home an hour or two earlier than she had anticipated. Spock went up to greet her, wagging his tail.

Since Ethel had not arrived home yet, Carol put out some more food for the dog and got herself a drink of water. She felt a pulsing throb in her lower stomach, near the space in between her legs, siganling her bladder was ready to be emptied. However, she recalled the incident the day before, and chose to hold off on her trip to the bathroom. She didn't want to experience another oddity or horror like that unless her grandmother was home.

She decided that with her grandma still at work, she would start watching _Jaws_ now and save _Alien_ for after dinner.

As she reentered the living room to put the VHS tape in the VCR, she glanced out the window to see that Curtis was not in sight. He must've gone inside. Inwardly, she hoped she hadn't scared him too much with the movies.

_The monsters can't get you out there, Curtis,_ she thought. _Those monsters live in outer space or the ocean or the closet, not on the street where you live._ The word _sewers_ also came to mind, but Carol disregarded it at the moment and pushed it to the back of her mind.

She popped the tape in the VCR, then headed over to the couch, where Spock lay at the foot.

_Sewers,_ that voice echoed again, creeping back into her train of thought like a troublesome weed. _There's monsters in the sewers._

* * *

**AN: *Jazz hands* Okay, so I was originally going to post this next week, but I already had this, the third chapter, and most of the fourth written, so I thought what the hell and went with it anyway. Happy holidays! **

**I was thrilled that I finally got to write the interaction between Carol and Mike. I feel they have a lot in common and am excited to write more about their friendship. I was also pleased to include the flashback to Tabitha's Halloween party. This won't be the last she sees of Pennywise!**

**As for the third chapter, things get more serious, although Carol will meet yet another other Loser. I must warn that the ending of the chapter will be the most disturbing the story gets so far. You all can probably guess why.**

_**Hermione Romanoff: I am glad to hear you liked my story! Reader input is valued, and I am always willing to hear your opinions. We'll be seeing more character development from Carol as she befriends the Losers and encounters It as the story progresses. (Also, I'm looking forward to your sequel of "Dealing With Being A Loser" and the next chapter of "A New Family").**_

**~ Robin M.**


	3. The Freakiest Show

Chapter 3: The Freakiest Show

_"But her friend is nowhere to be seen_

_Now she walks through her sunken dream_

_To the seat with the clearest view_

_And she's hooked to the silver screen"_

_-David Bowie, "Life On Mars?"_

* * *

The next morning, a Sunday, started off rather ordinarily. Carol got up, ate her breakfast, watched television, got dressed, and hung out around the house with nothing particular to do. Mostly, she was just waiting for the clock to strike ten, for that was when she would leave home to go to the Aladdin with her friends. To pass the time, she drew in her sketchbook, listened to some music, and did small chores around the house out of sheer boredom. One of these included taking Spock out on a walk down the street and back at nine o'clock.

When the kitchen clock read nine, Ethel called upon her granddaughter to do this chore. Carol, putting on her shoes and grabbing Spock's leash, headed out the front door with her pet trotting along beside her. They would walk down the street, wait for him to do his business, and then they would return. This task took usually no more than twenty minutes. It was an every day routine that was normalcy to Carol.

As she walked the small dog down the road, she basked in the traces of the crisp morning air before the approaching humidity of the day overpowered it. The sun was shining through the gathering clouds, and while it was still incredibly warm for being so early, it was not as intense as the day before. _Mike must've been right,_ she thought, remembering her encounter with the farm boy.

Earlier that morning, when she had first woken up before seven, she stole a glance out her window to see the sunrise bathing the approaching clouds with fiery hues of reds and purples. It was a truly astonishing and breathtaking sight to observe, and Carol's sleepy, disoriented eyes had been filled with awe.

_Red skies at night, sailor's delight. Red skies at morning, sailor's take warning._ That had been a favorite phrase of her father's which she had recalled upon seeing the crimson clouds, so vibrant a scarlet that they almost appeared to be splotches of blood on the pink morning sky.

As the duo proceeded down the block, the imagery of blood conjured an unwelcome image into Carol's previously tranquil state of mind. The instance of the bodily fluid rising in the toilet after she had flushed her vomit down the drain was not easily forgotten, and several times in the two days since she had inspected her bathroom up and down to uncover any signs pointing to the cause of the occurence, but to no avail.

Needless to say, she had become much more cautious and wary whenever she was in there. When going to the bathroom, she sat the opposite way on the toilet that one would normally do, so she had a clear view of the bowl of water. That way, she could ensure herself that no blood (_or anything els_e) was rising up to meet her.

In the middle of her train of thought, Carol suddenly felt a sharp jerk on the leash as Spock abruptly stopped his steady trot, paws rooted to the pavement.

"Spock?" she asked. As if her dog could answer. She yanked on the leash to get him to move. "Spocky, let's go!"

But he didn't budge, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat instead.

Spock _never_ growled. Ever.

"Spock?" she pressed, more unnerved the second time she said it. She took a few paces toward her pet, who stood rigid and growling, a thundering, ragged purr that resonated aggressively from his bared teeth. The bull terrier's almond-shaped brown eyes were fixed intently on a sewer grate, his ears perked up in alertness.

_Well, that's creepy as fuck._

She continued to inch her way toward her dog, whose growl was intensifying. His short hair, cropped closely to his skin, was standing up.

_He's scared,_ she realized. And that gave her the reason to be scared, too. Hell, she was scared shitless.

As Carol reached out a hand tentatively to snatch her dog's collar, Spock burst out into a series of short, sharp barks, jumping away from the sewer grate with his ears flattened and his back arched. It startled her so much that she lost her grip on his leash.

"Spock! Settle down!" She regained her hold on the leash and tugged with all her might, praying she had the strength to make him move. Spock was going wild, his barks increasing in volume and his tail tucked between his legs. "Spock, calm down! You're going to wake the neighbors!" She threw wild looks over her shoulders, hoping no one was observing the scene.

Eventually, Carol finally managed to make progress in dragging the aggravated canine away from his position, marching off in the direction they had come. He was still barking, turning his head around to glance at the sewer. She too followed his crazed eyes to the gaping black square hole in the side of the curb.

What could Spock sense that she couldn't?

Except, she _could_ sense something. Maybe not as strongly as her canine companion, but she felt something unnatural was lurking down there. Something nefarious.

Something hungry.

"Come on, Spocky," she urged, more gently. "We're going home bud, okay?"

The terrier whined in response. Although his barking had ceased, he was clearly still on edge, short hairs rising along his spine.

They returned back to the Perkins residence safely, but Carol still kept throwing glances over her shoulder, as if to double check nothing or no one had followed them home. She quickly entered the house, locking the door securely and peering out the living room window through the curtains.

The street was empty, just as it was before.

"What are you looking for, Carol Denise?" she heard her grandmother's voice question from behind. She was standing at the other end of the room, observing the younger with interest.

"Nothing," she lied, tearing her gaze away from the glass pane. "Spock saw something in the sewer while we were on our walk."

"Oh?" Ethel replied. "What did he see?"

_A monster_, Carol wanted to say. _Something evil._ But she wouldn't allow it. Her mouth just couldn't form the strange words that she conjured so easily in her brain. "I don't know."

"It was probably just some poor animal that got stuck down there," her grandmother reasoned, casting the teen a small smile before heading for the kitchen, leaving her alone in the living room.

_How could you, Grandma?_ Carol longed to scorn and wail simultaneously. _How could you turn a blind eye to what lurks in this dirty town? Can't you feel it? The hunger? The fear? The evil? Am I the only person alive who can? I need someone to, because I don't understand i_t_!_ But her mouth was clamped shut and her feet were planted to the carpet.

Suddenly remembering her date she and her friends had planned later that day, Carol glanced down at her watch. It was almost nine-thirty, which meant she had to get going soon if she was going to catch whatever feature they were expecting to see.

Rushing to her bedroom, she grabbed her pack (_already stuffed with the items and money she would need_) and slung it over her shoulder. She felt a mix of emotions, a rush of excitement, anticipation, and foreboding. Even though it had been only two days since the end of seventh grade, it would be the first time she would see her friends that summer.

"Hey Gran!" she called as she headed for the door, hoping the woman could overhear. "I'm heading to the theater now! I'll be back by one!"

She barely registered her grandmother's response of "Okay sweetie, have a good time!" before she was already climbing on Stardust. However, as she pedalled down the driveway, she noted that the bike felt slower, dragging across the concrete even when she applied more force to the pedals.

"You've got to be shitting me," she muttered to herself, getting off the bike to inspect the tires. Yep, just as she had expected: a flat in the front wheel.

"Son of a bitch!" she swore, annoyed. She wasn't exactly an expert at blowing up tires, and besides, she would be late to the movies if she attempted. Defeatedly, she walked Stardust back up to its lying position, useless without two fully inflated tires. She would have to walk the whole way into town if she wanted to meet up with her buddies.

"This bites." Sighing and readjusting her pack slung on her shoulder, she proceeded down the street hastily to avoid being late.

On her way into town, Carol observed the sky above, which was becoming more clouded and gray as the minutes passed by. She was deeply relieved by this, for it meant that the concealment of the sun would make the day less scorching. Derry's streets and sidewalks were not as crowded as the day before, most likely because children desired to play outside when the weather was more appealing.

When the Aladdin came into view, Carol scoured the surrounding area for any of her friends' faces. Her search proved in vain however, and she concluded that they were probably waiting inside, where it was air-conditioned and cool. With that thought, she stepped inside the glass doors, where she immediately entered the arcade.

The arcade hall was a favorite hangout for many prepubescent children in Derry, dozens flocking to the colorful machines with quarters and other varieties of currency clenched in their fists or stuffed in their pockets. She could hear the sounds the games emitted as kids eagerly handled controls and pressed buttons, eyes glued intently to the illuminating screens.

A few feet away, Estelle and Priscilla were waiting patiently by a game of _Dig Dug._

_Just them?_ She walked up to where the two girls stood. "Hey." She glanced around some more to make sure she wasn't missing something obvious. "Where is everyone?"

"Tabitha can't come," Estelle answered. "I don't know about Deborah."

"What about Marcie?" She had kind of suspected that Tabs and Debs wouldn't come, based on their conversations that they had Friday, but Marcie? She had been one of the original people who wanted to go…

"She had to leave town last night for a family emergency," her friend replied. "Something about her aunt."

"Oh, okay then." Carol pretended to appear nonchalant at the news as her spirits dropped from crushing discouragement, all high hopes that she had for their get together diminishing like dust slipping through her fingers. What, did she actually think they were all going to be there? No, she did not, but it had been nice imagining that they would. Even if Marcie couldn't really help it, the group still felt like there was a gaping hole left without her, the same going for Tabitha and Deborah.

In a procession of silence, the trio of girls made their way through the arcade hall to the main lobby, paying upfront and buying a tub of popcorn before proceeding to the showing that they paid to see.

As they entered the dark theater and filed one by one into the red carpeted folding seats, the gargantuan movie screen illuminated the eager faces of the viewers as the roll of film began to play.

Estelle and Priscilla were already shoving the buttery, crunchy contents of the popcorn tub into their mouths as Carol's eyes were drawn to the front, a type of horror flick she liked to call a "creature feature" starting off with an eerie theme playing in the background. Listening intently as the movie played, she surreptitiously snuck a handful of popcorn as a long ago memory reentered her mind.

The moment reminded her of the time when she was ten, going to a drive-in theater on Halloween to see reshowings of older "creature feature" films for no more than a dollar. She was not a fan of trick-or-treating, for the idea of taking sugar from complete strangers always seemed dangerous and foreign to her, so she had spent the majority of her holiday night there watching horror movies. She couldn't recall all the names of the films she had seen, but one that stuck out to her the most was a zombie movie from the seventies called _Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things._

She had had nightmares for days after that night. The walking corpses in the movie had been so terrifying, so horrific, and she had been mortified to the very core of her ten year old bones. Not that she didn't like the movie, it was good, but the undead had left her so unnerved. She had sworn she would never see another zombie movie again after that, and yet she had still watched _Night of the Living Dead_ for the first time a month later.

Carol got nightmares often, just as any kid did, but it was the ones about the undead coming back from the grave that always had her waking up with chills numbing her skin, heart pounding wildly. She would picture their milky, lifeless eyes, bloodstained teeth and nails, decaying skin, and emaciated figures as they shambled after her, morbid moans resonating in the otherwise silent air. They were _dead_, yet they were _moving_, and they wanted her, they craved her flesh and brains, and she ran as far as she could go.

And each time, no matter how fast she ran, they always caught her. Each time, she would feel their teeth sink into her. She would wake up thinking, _I died_, and she could _swear_ she felt pain from where her flesh had been torn from her bones.

It made her wonder what was causing the disappearances of the missing kids in Derry. There were some talks of a serial killer, children getting lost in the woods or drowned in the river, and some suggested that the events weren't connected at all. But Carol had always been open-minded, and her imagination conjured images of children dying agonizing deaths out in the wilderness of small-town Maine, their cries of help and screams of terror unheard as they died, never to be seen again and forgotten by those of Derry.

She didn't want to be one of those kids. She thought of the little Denbrough boy, Betty, Donna, and all the others. She imagined Donna screaming in the Barrens as someone, or something, dragged her off into the shadows.

Despite the theater being relatively freezing, as most were, Carol found perspiration dripping down her forehead and onto her cheeks. Her heart was racing, thudding in her chest so hard she feared Estelle or Priscilla could hear it over the sound of munching popcorn and the movie playing before them. She kept her eyes fixed to the screen, desperately trying to ignore the waves of nausea tossing around in her stomach.

_I'm no different than those zombies_, she thought, anxiety settling in, her breath quickening. _I just walk the Earth, just existing, like a ghost with flesh._

She felt a jolt inside of her as her insides churned. Her hands were trembling and her eyes stung.

_I'm dead, I'm a dead girl walking._

Another lurch drained all the blood from her face. Breathing heavily, she managed to get out a strangled "I think I'm gonna be sick!" to her friends before she stumbled out her seat, scrambling as fast as she could towards the restroom.

She reached the doors, bursting through them, not caring if their were people occupying any of the stalls as she rushed into the first empty cubical she spotted. She slammed the door shut behind her before her knees gave out beneath her, barely having enough time to pull her hair back as she heaved her breakfast into the public toilet. It felt like she was retching forever, although it was only a few seconds of her stomach convulsing, sending the remains of her meal and snacks up in the form of vomit.

When it was all over, she stared at the mess she had created in the bowl of the toilet. Then Carol began to cry, all the tears she withheld from her stress and anxiety breaking free in soft, choking sobs. She was embarrassed, she was sick, and she was alone.

She didn't hear the cubical door on the other side of the restroom open, nor the sound of feet as they softly made their way towards hers. She only vaguely registered the faint tapping of knuckles on the stall door, and a hesitant, nervous voice ask, "Hey, are you okay in there?"

"I'm fine," Carol replied, beginning to regain a little of her composure back. She had stopped crying, but the tears had not run dry and her voice cracked.

"Okay…" There was an agonizing pause as the person on the other side (_it didn't sound like any of her friends_) did not make a move away from the door. Then the voice, even more hesitant and unsure, offered, "Do you need help? I mean, do you want me to come in?"

Honestly, Carol didn't even care. Sure, she looked and felt like shit, but she didn't want to have to deal with the awkwardness if she said no. She could always say, _Leave me the fuck alone_, but she just wasn't in that kind of mood. "Yeah, if you want," she said, flushing her upchuck down the toilet. There was no way she was letting the person see that.

The door, which she had left unlocked in her hurry, gently opened, and Carol turned around to see who the stranger was. It was a girl her age, with long, wavy red hair tied back in a ponytail, a face delicately dusted with freckles, and blue-green eyes that shimmered with concern. It was Beverly Marsh, the girl who was rumored to do any boy in the school for free, the girl who snuck out of class to smoke a cigarette in the bathroom, the girl who most girls observed with a mixture of hate and envy.

Carol had never talked to her before, their interaction never breaching the limit of exchanging polite smiles once or twice when making eye contact in the hallway. She had heard the rumors, yes, but did she care? No. Why was it her business if Beverly slept around with boys? It didn't affect herself, so why did it matter if the rumors were true or not?

"Hey, you don't look so good," Beverly commented, her frown deepening and her eyes widening. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," she lied, wiping some of the sweat off her face and hoping no vomit stained her lips. "I just got sick, that's all."

"Oh," the redhead replied, her face clouding with doubt as she appeared to be reconsidering her decision to come in there. Then she stared at Carol closely, recognition lighting up her sharp gaze. "You're in my grade, aren't you? I feel like I saw you around a lot."

"Yeah, we are. We had English together, I think."

"That's what I thought," she said, taking a seat on the ground tentatively beside her in the cramped space. "I'm Beverly, by the way. Beverly Marsh."

"I know," Carol responded. "I hear your name a lot."

Beverly's smile faltered slightly. "Oh." She could see the apparent disappointment and frustration in her eyes, even though she tried to appear collected. "You've heard the rumors, I guess."

She shrugged, knowing instantly she hit a nerve. "I don't really even care what people say about you. I'm not one of those girls that listens to gossip, if that's what you're wondering."

That seemed to brighten the other girl a little bit. "Oh. Well, good." She gave a small, slightly self conscious smile. "I thought you were gonna be one of those girls that hates me just because they think I'm a slut."

"No," Carol said. Then, she asked, "They aren't true, are they?"

"No, they aren't." She sighed deeply, as if the weight of the rumors was too much to bear. They probably were. "I've only kissed one guy in my whole life, in fact. And it was for a play."

She nodded, not at all surprised at the information. Deep inside, a part of her always knew that Beverly Marsh wasn't promiscuous. Girls like Greta Bowie and Sally Mueller just envied her looks, desperate to ruin another girl's reputation because she had something they didn't.

Beverly stared at her apologetically. "I don't know who your are," she admitted. "What's your name?"

Carol laughed a little. Of course she didn't know her. Just because they had one class together the previous school year didn't mean she'd remember her. "It's Carol," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Carol," Beverly greeted, before her tone and face became more serious after a brief hesitation. "Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question? Like, a personal one? If it isn't too much trouble, that is."

"Sure…?" She didn't know what the other girl was getting at, but something about her wanted to help her, so she listened.

She chewed on her bottom lip in silence as she thought of the correct way to put her words. "I… um, just got my period? And I don't know what I'm supposed to do?"

_Oh- wait, what?_

The look on her face must've displayed it all, because Beverly averted her gaze, deeply embarrassed and self conscious. "Sorry. It's just… I don't have any friends, so I don't know what other girls do."

Carol kind of just looked at her in disbelief, trying to think of something to tell this girl she had just met. Inwardly, she wanted to question her why she couldn't ask her mother, who could probably explain it better than her. But then again, maybe her mom wasn't around, like Carol's own mother.

"Uh… well, I'd get some pads or tampons first," she started. "That's what you use to absorb the blood so you don't bleed through."

"I know that part," Beverly told her, "but what do you do if you don't have those things and you don't have enough money to buy some today?"

_Well, this is getting too complicated._ "Well, just stuff some padding like toilet paper in your underwear and change it periodically until you can get some. When I got mine, I was at school, so that's what I did until I got home." Carol cringed as she recalled the time when she was twelve, getting up from her lunch table to see a spot of blood on her seat. She nearly had had a panic attack.

"Oh," the ginger girl responded quietly. Then her face brightened into a visage of relief and gratitude. "Thank you so, so much, Carol. I- I was completely lost, to be honest."

"No problem," Carol assured her, a small smile appearing on her pale face. It felt good to know that she had helped someone so lost and confused, even if people did not bother to do the same to her. Additionally, there was something about Beverly that made her feel like she could open up to her, something safe and secure, as if they had been best friends since birth. Though they had just met, a mutual trust and likeness had been established between the two girls.

"Seriously, this means so much to me, you don't even know," Beverly insisted. "Thank you for being so helpful." She gave a tiny laugh that sounded like birds singing. "I know this is such an awkward place to be having 'the talk'."

There was something in the way her eyes lit up and the humor in her voice that made Carol laugh, too. "Well, what place more appropriate than the bathroom?" She thought, _First Mike, now Beverly. Maybe other people aren't so bad, after all._

"Yeah," Bev jokingly agreed, changing the subject abruptly, as if she just remembered something important. "Well, I better get going soon. My dad will want me back home." Her voice darkened a little at the mention of her father, the other girl noted. Then, she added, "Thanks for everything."

"Sure thing," Carol told her. "I better be going, too. And thanks for checking in on me, by the way."

"No problem," Bev assured with a grin. "Call it even, Steven."

The two girls smiled at each other. Then, as if some unsaid code word had been passed between them, the two girls hugged goodbye, despite having only met.

Carol felt comfortable and grateful as they embraced on the restroom floor, ignoring Her Rule for the time being. Hugging Beverly felt the same as hugging friends she had known for years. Her hair smelled of cheap old cigarette smoke.

Getting up from the tiled floor, Beverly gave her a final smile as she went for the stall door. "Bye Carol," she said, giving her a final small smile.

"Bye Bev," she responded, watching as the other girl exited the restroom. Getting off the grimy floor herself, she headed back to the movie where her friends were.

Outside the restrooms, she spotted Estelle and Priscilla pacing around, anxious and whipping their heads around with searching eyes. Upon seeing her, they hurried towards her with worried expressions.

"Dude, where were you?" Estelle pressed, her brown eyes wide. "You were gone forever!"

"We thought you went outside or something," Priscilla added, holding Carol's pack in her hands, which she had left in her seat.

"Guys, I'm fine," she assured them, putting on her best nonchalant persona. "I just got a little sick, that's all." She glanced back to the screening doors. "How much of the movie did I miss?"

"About ten minutes," Priscilla answered, handing her pack back to her. The trio headed in the direction of the showing room doors.

"Bye the way, we bought more popcorn as we were waiting for you to show up," Estelle added as they made their way back to their seats.

And once again, Carol was enveloped by the darkness and illuminated by the silver screen.

…

After their movie had finished, Carol bid farewell to her two pals and proceeded her journey home by foot. The sky above had clouded over completely, turning it a pale shade of gray. It was slightly cooler because of this, yet the air was still thick with heat and humidity.

It was rather silent as she marched on, pack slung over her shoulder, nothing but the sound of her faint humming of "Under Pressure" now and then. Carol was lost in thought, ruminating about all of the bizarre events that had taken place in the past three days: the toilet, Spock's outburst, the sewer grate, her own sense of dread.

She hardly registered her legs taking a left onto Neibolt Street.

Her train of thought taking a stop, she glanced up to realize she was on a seemingly deserted road. _Well, this isn't the way I came._

She knew of Neibolt Street, but it was rather far from her own house. _How'd I get here?_ She glanced around, searching for any signs pointing her in the direction of a more familiar street. _Oh God, please don't tell me I'm lost._

Yes, that's exactly what she was.

_Well, shit._

There were no houses in sight except for one especially decrepit one, yard overgrown by weeds and grass waist heigh. Behind the house, there was a thin line of woods, and through the trees, she could see the faint metal wires of a fence. If she was on Neibolt Street, then that meant she was all the way over by the trainyard.

She had two options: go back the way she came and figure out what streets she should take to backtrack, or go through the backyard and over the fence, hoping that there were housing developments behind it.

_Risk getting lost or go past the creepy hobo house? Yeah, no thanks._ She had her pocketknife in her pack, but she was also wearing shorts, and the grass was probably ridden with poison ivy and ticks. And she did not need that.

She began to turn around back up Neibolt when something caught her eye.

Out by the treeline behind the house was the faint figure of a person. They were just standing there, whoever they were, and slowly shuffling their feet. Carol squinted her eyes to get a better look. She guessed it was a hobo or maybe a druggie, but then she noticed the person's familiar features.

Long, strawberry blonde hair. A striped navy blue shirt with the sleeves cut off. Jean shorts.

_Donna?_

Hesitantly, she called out, "Donna?" She took a few steps forward until she was out the house's looming, rusty fence. "Donna?" she called a second time, slightly louder.

It sure _looked_ like Donna.

She entered the front yard and made her away around the house. The girl back there was not moving much at all, and Carol vaguely wondered if they were hurt.

_Maybe I should call the cops,_ she thought, then brushed it off. _Like they would care._

As she hiked through the waist high weeds, poison ivy and ticks briefly forgotten, a jumble of thoughts began racing through her mind.

_It_ definitely _looks like Donna._

(Run away.)

_I was so sure she was dead._

(Run, you fool.)

_What the hell?_

(RUN, GODDAMMIT! RUN!)

She was only a few yards away from the girl, and she realized with a jolt that it _was_ Donna. She was wearing the same outfit that she had dressed in the day of her disappearance, her long hair tied back in a ponytail. But she did not look well at all, her skin so deathly pale it was almost gray, splatters of blood staining her striped shirt. In fact, the closer she got, the less sure she was that this teenage girl was really her friend, a doppelganger instead.

"Donna…?" she whispered, her voice filled with fear and uncertainty. A prickling sensation had begun to intensify in the back of her neck.

Donna turned her head around to face her, and that's when all of Carol's suspicions and fears became the truth. Her heart was abruptly yanked down to the pit of her stomach, where it continued to fall infinitely.

Her blue eyes were glassy, staring back blankly and lifeless from her skull.

Carol's mouth had just begun to form the words _What the hell?!_ when more figures started to pour out of the treeline, emerging from the concealing shadows of the surrounding woods. A little boy in a yellow slicker and galoshes bathed in blood stood out brightly in contrast with the rest of his surroundings, his right sleeve dangling limply from where his arm had been torn from his body. It was George Denbrough, who had gone missing in October two blocks from her house.

_It's him, oh fuck, and it's-_

Veronica Grogan. And Steven Perry. And Cheryl Lamonica.

_Oh God, it's all of them-_

And Vera Evans. And Matthew Clements. And Olive Piermont. And Danny Lang. And Maureen McAllister. And… and… and…

_It's all the missing kids. Oh fuck. Oh_ shit.

They were dead, _un_dead, like the zombies in the George A. Romero movies. They would grab her and tear the flesh from her bones and eat her all while she was still alive, just like in _Night of the Living Dead._

"Holy shit!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. All of her rationality dissipated and left her disoriented and hysterical. "Holy shit! _Holy shit!"_

She didn't even think as her legs carried her away, and she sprinted as fast as she could through the overgrown backyard on Neibolt Street, her panic and hyperventilating depriving her of the breath necessary to give her the endurance to run back home.

_I'm the fastest girl in all of Derry,_ a voice echoed in the remaining rational portion of her brain. But that inner thought of self-assurance was immediately forgotten as hysteria set in, conquering her mind like a virus.

They were coming after her, moaning, bony legs moving forward awkwardly and rotting arms reached out. She shot a look over her shoulder as she ran, and she could see the dirt under their fingernails from where they had dug up out of their graves.

_Come back, Carol…_ they seemed to say. _We've been hungry…_

Suddenly, a child's hand shot up out of the dirt, gripping her ankle with inhuman speed. Carol shrieked in stunned terror as she crashed down onto the Earth, whipping her head around to be face to face with Betty Ripsom as she crawled out of the ground, nails digging into her ankle. Betty's dark brown hair was matted with dirt, her eyes milky and sunken into her skull, which was prominently showing underneath her rotting skin.

Carol screamed and screamed, yanking her leg as hard as she could to escape the dead girl's grasp. It was in that moment that she knew she was going to die. The others would catch up to her, and their would be no escape. The last thing she would feel would be their nails piercing her skin and their teeth sinking into her soft flesh as they tore into her, and she would be screaming as blood poured down her face and into her eyes but nobody would come, and when they searched for her remains all they would find would be some bloodstained grass and her pack. Carol was going to die alone as she was eaten alive, dismissed as missing like the other vanishing children and soon _forgotten_ by everyone in their dirty little town.

With a strong jerk, she managed to wrench free of Dead Betty's grasp, just as the undead corpse pulled herself out of the ground entirely, Carol's right shoe in her hand. She scrambled to her feet, ankle throbbing and already bruising. Dead Betty was crawling after her, her free arm reached out for her as she propelled herself forward. Her bottom half wasn't there, her intestines trailing out behind her like limp streamers where her legs should've been.

Carol made a loud exclamation of horror and revulsion, her stomach swimming.

_"Thanks for the shoe, Carol!"_ Dead Betty growled, her voice almost inaudible. _"Now gimme your legs!"_

"Oh, hell no!" she screamed, ignoring the dead girl as she kept on running, almost to the street where she could run to the safety of her house. When the moans of the zombie children stopped and were replaced by giggly laughter instead, she risked a glance back over her shoulder.

A clown was dead-on sprinting after her, the dead missing kids nowhere in sight, and she realized with horror that this was the same clown she had seen in November on her way back from Tabitha's Halloween party. Except its now slowly decomposing face was contorted with maniacal delight, a sinister Chesire Cat smile widening to reveal pointed, razor-sharp teeth.

_"Carol, there's something floating! There's something floating in my tummy!" _And then it began to gag, retching with its eyes comically wide as it vomited up chunks of flesh, splattering its silver costume with gory splotches.

_"What the fuck?!"_ she shrieked, beyond freaked out at the horrific sight. She gave a final surge, her fear and adrenaline giving her the strength and speed to make it to the pavement and bolt up the street. The clown's laughter echoed behind her.

She ran and ran, never looking back.

* * *

**AN: Well, here's chapter three! For those wondering, the theater scene was inspired by Beverly's "date" with Richie and Ben in the novel, where they also go to the movies and see a "creature feature" about a teenage Frankenstein and a teenage werewolf (the latter of which It takes the form of when Bill and Richie go to Neibolt). **

**Also, Carol finally had her first official encounter with Pennywise! The part with Betty Ripsom's undead corpse grabbing her shoe was added last minute, but I felt it made the scene all the more creepier and terrifying to Carol.**

**On a more pleasant note, Carol finally got to meet Beverly! I feel like both girls were there for each other in their moments of vulnerability, despite barely knowing each other. I am looking forward to writing more about their friendship!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! I plan on releasing Chapter Four sometime during the middle of next week.**

_**Hermione Romanoff: Glad you enjoyed! **_**Halloween**_** is also one of my horror films, along with **_**Night Of The Living Dead**_**, **_**Psycho**_**, **_**The Shining**_**, and **_**The Blair Witch Project**_** (and **_**It**_** of course!). It also has one of the best horror scores of all time, in my opinion. As for pairings, I will talk about possible pairings at the end of the next chapter.**_

**~ Robin M.**


	4. Ridin' Fences

Chapter 4: Ridin' Fences

_"And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin'_

_Your prison is walking through this world all alone"_

_-Eagles, "Desperado"_

* * *

She was flying down the endless stretch of pavement and the houses that lined it like guards at a post, going on and on like an infinite loop. However, these flew by to the point where they blurred together into indistinguishable colors in the corners of her peripheral vision. Carol ignored her surroundings and just kept on running. That was all that mattered really, that and the direction to the safety of her home. She had devoted her mind so intently to this task that all other rational thoughts had since exited her brain. She never once felt exhaustion, just fear. Fear, tingling her spine. Fear, rattling her brain. Although, she had since forgotten what she was afraid of.

* * *

She had never stopped running, even when her street came into view and with it, her house. Even when she had secured a safe distance between whatever danger she was running from

(_the clown_)

and herself. Carol sprinted up her road, making a mad dash for the front porch of the Perkins residence. Her breath was catching in her throat painfully, and she felt like she was inhaling mustard, but her body was fueled by fear and adrenaline. And after all, she _was_ the fastest girl in Derry. The rush of air berating her face froze the sweat induced by the heat of the day on her skin. Sprinting up the porch steps, she pounded her fists on the front door repeatedly, hoping, praying that her grandmother was home.

After a few agonizing seconds, Ethel Perkins finally opened the front door, her face bewildered at her granddaughter's current state and appearance.

"Goodness gracious, sweetheart!" Ethel exclaimed in stunned surprise. "Carol, what on Earth is the matter?"

It took her a few moments to regain her breath, overexertion and panic snatching the precious oxygen away from her desperate lungs. Never once during her flee did her legs tire, but now they seemed to melt, reduced to the composition of jelly. Taking one large gulp of air, she answered, "There was a dog chasing after me." It was a lie, but then again, Ethel chose to believe all the lies her Carol Denise told. "It was a big brute, like a guard dog or something, and it chased me all the way here from a few blocks down while I was walking home."

Ethel, still stunned and eyes widened with shock, brought her gaze down to Carol's feet. "Honey, where's your shoe?"

She followed her grandmother's gaze down, finally noticing and remembering that Dead Betty had grabbed her right shoe back behind the house on Neibolt Street. The image of the missing girl, her lower half torn away, unwillingly reentered her thoughts. She had not at all perceived running all the way to the Perkins' house with only one shoe, and now she felt the throbbing pain on the sole of her foot from pounding it against the pavement repeatedly in her mad dash home.

"Oh," she replied, unable to conjure a sufficient answer on the spot. "It must've fallen off, I guess."

While Ethel appeared to believe this lie, her eyes still glimmered with worry. "Did it bite you?" she pressed. "Are you okay? I can make you some lemonade, if you like-"

"I'm fine Grandma, trust me," she said, cutting her off. "Really, nothing's the matter. I just wanna be alone for a little while."

_Alone_. God, that was such an awful word. It was a deafening silence, holding echos and whispers of all the words left unsaid. It was a bottomless pit, an empty chasm, a black hole that vacuumed you in without you even realizing it until it was too late. And when the darkness and emptiness consumed you, there was no escape. Not ever.

Her grandmother nodded in understanding, although she sensed she was still perplexed at the whole situation. "Oh, okay dear. If you need anything, give me a holler."

Carol nodded and easily maneuvered around her grandmother through the front door, journeying off in the direction of her bedroom. When she had reached it, she sat down on the soft, comforting surface of her bed and brought one leg up closer to her, clutching her throbbing foot and ankle. It hurt like a bitch, but she decided to ignore the pain for the time being and try to take her mind off of lingering on the traumatic events that occurred earlier that day.

Rummaging through her discarded pack, she withdrew her Walkman, the wires of her headphones dangling limply like minuscule black snakes. She inserted them into her ears and pressed Play. Music was her escape route, for it could always managed to drag her mind away from whatever anxious thoughts plagued her and send her into her own safe, isolated world.

A few songs played, and she listened intently, her legs swaying back and forth from where she sat on the edge of her bed. After a couple, a slower, softer song resonated from the speakers, and she recognized instantly.

_Pain from pearls, hey little girl_

_How much have you grown?_

_Pain from pearls, hey little girl_

_Flowers for the ones you've known_

It was one of Carol's favorite songs. While the majority of the songs she enjoyed were deep in some sense, "Kid Fears" by Indigo Girls really hit home for her. She had discovered it the year prior, driving back into Derry with her grandmother after a visit to her parents' house. It had been a rainy, nighttime drive, and the music drifted softly from Ethel's car's radio speakers as Carol stared out the window pattered with rain into the dark treeline that whizzed by endlessly.

_Are you on fire_

_From the years?_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears?_

"Kid Fears", in a sense, was like Carol's night song. She would listen to it often upon the sun's dying rays finally succumbing to the climbing darkness of the twilight horizon, staring out the feeble glass pane of her bedroom window on the carpeted floor as she gazed out into the town she called home, or past ten o'clock in the pitch-black shadows of her room, comfortably secured under her sheets.

But most often it would be at night, outside on the swings in her backyard, the ones she so frequently usef in her earlier childhood (_which her grandmother had not yet removed_). Carol would often sneak outside while Ethel Perkins was sound asleep and sit on one of the swings in her backyard when she was plagued with insomnia, seeking some peace of mind, Walkman in hand. She would sit there, at the increasingly rusted seat of the swings, the earbuds of her Walkman plugged in her ears, swinging back and forth gently in the night with the Walkman in her lap in silence, the soft voice of Indigo Sisters crooning softly into her ears. It seemed almost out of place to have been playing it in broad daylight. Needless to say, she perceived chills during the next verse.

_Secret staircase, running high_

_You had a hiding place_

_Secret staircase, running low_

_They all know, now you're inside_

(_"Carol, there's something floating!"_)

The clown. _That fucking clown._ She was almost entirely positive it was the exact same one that she had seen walking home from Tabitha Amherst's Halloween party on Witcham Street back in November, five months before. It was surely too much of a coincidence, right? But Carol simply did not understand how that was even connected to the horror she witnessed not even an hour before; her heart still hammered relentlessly like a beating drum from the sheer fright of it.

_Are you on fire_

_From the years?_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears?_

_Kid fears_

And the children, they had been all the missing kids: Donna, George Denbrough, Betty Ripsom, the whole box set. It was as if the occurence had been retrieved directly from one of Carol's childhood nightmares, as vivid and as mortifying as it had been in the darkest and most wildest depths of her imagination. Perhaps that was all that it had been, her imagination. Maybe she did not see undead children behind the abandoned house on Neibolt Street. It was quite possible she even conjured the clown within her wildly creative mind, maybe even back in November.

Carol _did_ have a vivid imagination.

_Skipping stones, we know the price now_

_Any sin will do_

_How much further, if you can spin_

_How much further, if you are smooth_

But no, that wasn't it, it just couldn't be. Whatever that thing that she saw was, her deepest, darkest fears, had been there; tangible and able to touch. As if to affirm this internal statement to herself, she brought one hand back down to her bruising ankle, the one the shredded corpse of Betty Ripsom gripped as her hand shot out of the earth.

_Are you on fire_

_From the years?_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears?_

(_"Now gimme your legs!"_)

How had dozens of zombie children vanished into the thin air in the backyard of the decrepit abode in the blink of an eye, a clown appearing out of nowhere and charging toward her at an impossible speed? And yet, somehow she was able to outrun it, outdistanced it until she had reached the safety of her home. Maybe it was because she was, as she always assured herself confidently, the fastest girl in all of Derry. Or perhaps she just simply believed that and continued to do so.

It was then that she realized with mounting puzzlement that she internally referred to the clown as _it_. Not _he_, or even _she_, but _it_.

_Replace the rent with the stars above_

_Replace the need with love_

_Replace the anger with the tide_

_Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love_

Was this the cause of her increasing feeling of dread, the reason behind her sense that something evil was lurking in Derry? Of course, everything was off about Derry; she had lived there permanently for over five years, which was plenty long enough to feel the secrets, the hate boiling beneath the surface down below. She wondered how the people who had called their town of residence their lifelong home could bear it.

_The ones that you love_

_Are you on fire_

_From the years?_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears?_

Was it all connected? The blood rising in the toilet? Spock barking at the sewer grate? The dancing clown five months ago? The incident at Neibolt that day? Maybe even the disappearances of the missing kids? No matter how desperately hard she tried to deny it, that little inner voice told her otherwise. Yes, she had a strong feeling that it was. And as the song reached its final verse, she lied down on her bed, grasping a pillow and letting herself sink into it. _Sinking_, that's what she felt like. Not

(_floating_)

hurting, not petrified with fear, but _sinking_.

_Are you on fire_

_From the years_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears_

_What would you give for your_

_Kid fears_

_You can't feel_

_The kids_

As the song ended and yet another began to emit from her trusty Walkman, Carol Chamblers had never been left so confused or alone.

"But none of this makes any sense," Carol whispered to herself, voicing wavering.

_No, none of it does._

…

Nine year old Curtis Crowley reopened his eyes for what had to be the umpteenth time in the darkness of his bedroom. Growing paranoid, he stole a glance over on the clock on his nightstand. In the very faint glow that illuminated from his nightlight, he could read the hands at ten twenty-five. It was way past his bedtime, but he just couldn't fall asleep.

Curtis never had insomnia before, and he was not sure what was plaguing his consciousness that night. He had slept well the previous night, and the night before that, and so on. Nothing was particularly bothering him (_not that he was aware of_) and his mind was not occupied. It was just whenever he tried to close his eyes, his lids wanted to reopen themselves again.

He turned over under the sheets of his twin bed, shifting around to find a comfortable and durable position to fall asleep in. His eyes remained wide open, each pose he attempted not inducing the exhaustion necessary to fall unconscious.

He was becoming well aware of his throat being quite parched, the back of his esophagus scratching irritably. He needed a drink of water. Maybe after getting hydrated, he could finally manage to fall asleep peacefully and successfully. Climbing out of bed, Curtis made his way down the stairs in the darkness of the silent house.

His mother was sound asleep up in her bedroom, tired of a day's work in addition to caring for her only son. As for his father, he was still at his job. His dad was always at work. Dirk Crowley was a truck driver, often away from his wife, son, and home, on the road day and night. Curtis occasionally went for a few days without ever seeing his father.

His mother dealt with this well, for Violet Crowley had always been more of an independent woman, despite her docile nature. She was a very silent person, preferring to sit back and watch everything unfold with an uncertain look in her eyes and a rather nervous smile on her lips. Curtis never knew the reason behind his mother's timid and introverted behavior; he just assumed she had always been like that.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Curtis carefully navigated himself through the dark, shadowy house to the kitchen. In a far corner, he could faintly make out the outline of the family cat, a rather fluffy black and white one christened Sylvester, treading to his designated sleeping space on the kitchen mat. Upon entering the room, he grabbed a nearby chair to hoist himself up to the cabinet where the glasses were kept, far out of his grasp.

A faint noise in the shadows caught his attention in his overly alert and awake state. He whipped his head around to glare into the pitch-black hallway beyond the kitchen, where it was impossible to distinguish anything that would be in there. But the sound had been so surreptitious and subtle that he dismissed it as a noise from outdoors, choosing a glass and stepping back down. After all, it was probably just the cat.

Curtis headed over to the refrigerator, getting his drink, listening to the glass fill and the gentle hum of the icebox in the dead silent kitchen. Once it had been filled to the rim, he brought the cup to his lips.

The water didn't taste like water at all. It was bitter, thick, and had an undesirable metallic tang. He immediately spat it out with disgust, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips as if he shoved an entire lemon into his mouth.

_Eww, dirty water!_

He glanced down at his cup and yes, the water was dark and murky when it should've been clear and clean. Tentatively, he stuck his finger in, getting a few drops on his finger, and brought it up closer to his eyes. It smelled metallic, yes, like iron. Like liquid rust.

His heart froze, ice freezing his veins, arteries, insides, skin.

It was blood.

The glass slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor and shattering into dozens of bloodstained shards. The dark, crimson, liquid contents splattered on the kitchen floor and refrigerator with a splash, painting everything within a three foot radius with scarlet gore. Curtis stared down at the mess he had created with shock and horror, his hands coated with blood, as well as his legs. His terror only grew when Sylvester erupted a menacing hiss from the other side of the kitchen.

_"Curtis…"_

His eyes, which beheld the frightened look of a cornered rabbit, were drawn once again to the dark hallway beyond. Even in his petrified state, he could've _sworn_ he could detect a faint, whispery, inhuman voice emit from the impenetrable darkness.

Then, something became clearer as something, or someone, came into his line of vision. A dark, looming figure was emerging from the shadows of the hallway into the kitchen, and in front of it was a rather brightly colored object. When it stepped into the dim lighting, he realized with a sickening, terrifying jolt what it was.

_Oh God, it's an alien._ Except it wasn't like the aliens Curtis recognized in most pop culture. It wasn't neon green with insect-like black eyes, an enlarged head, with a humanoid figure. Oh no, it was a far cry from _those_ aliens. It was much larger than he could ever imagine, with a dark, skeletal, extraterrestrial body that seemed almost mechanical. Its head was elongated, with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and soulless eyes, and its tail whipped back and forth dangerously. Curtis knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this was _the_ alien, like from the movie that Carol Chamblers from down the street had told him about.

He wanted to scream. God, how he _longed_ to scream. But his mind had gone blank, his throat dry, his legs paralyzed, fingers numb. Poor nine year old Curtis Crowley was experiencing the utmost terror that mankind could perceive. In his fright, he had shut down completely, his mind a clean slate, unable to think of anything else except perceive the abomination in front of him. And yet, he didn't feel the fear, or at least not any more. He didn't feel anything. Fear had made him numb.

The alien nudged the vibrant red object floating in front of its face with its head, and the near circular shape drifted out of the concealment of the shadows over to where Curtis stood planted to the kitchen tiles. It stopped right in front of his face, until all he could see was red.

It was a balloon.

_"Do you like it, Curtis?"_ the voice rasped again. This time, he was certain he wasn't imagining it._ "It floats. Isn't that nifty, Curt?"_

He desperately wanted to smack the balloon out of his face, but his arm couldn't move, trembling each time he attempted to lift it.

_"I could take you up in my spaceship, Curty."_ He could hear the sound of footsteps as it came closer. _"Then we could float together. In space, everything floats!"_

A scream was building up in his throat as he gradually regained control of his senses. He opened his mouth to cry for his mom, when the balloon drifted away from his face, revealing the alien only feet from where he stood. Its mouth was open ajar slightly, revealing those dreaded teeth, something akin to saliva oozing between them and onto the previously spick and span kitchen tiles.

_"Your mommy won't hear you,"_ the alien told him, its voice almost mocking. _"Adults choose what they _want_ to hear, Curtis."_ It was leaning into him now, its elongated head dangerously close. _"And in space, no one can hear you scream."_

The little boy was trembling. He felt the crotch and legs of his pajama pants dampen with warmth as his bladder let go, the most visible sign of his petrifying fear besides his shaking and pale face. From his mouth emitted one word, barely audible and shaky with horror and childlike uncertainty. "Mom…?"

The alien's mouth was inches away from his, the oozing substance from its mouth dripping onto his pajama shirt. And somewhere in his mind, he recalled what It had said.

_"In space, everything floats!"_

"Mom?" he blurted out, slightly more certain this time, as well as frightened. The alien's mouth was opening. "Mom?! _Mommy?!"_ And like It had said, nobody ever heard him scream. Not his mother, nor any of the surrounding neighbors.

The last thing Curtis Crowley knew of was teeth.

The kitchen clock read ten thirty-one. From within the darkness, Sylvester the cat licked his paw before trotting off to some other room. All was quiet.

* * *

**AN: I meant to post this a few days ago, but my break just ended, and I was extremely busy. Updates will usually be a week or two apart now that school is up again. Also, I apologize if this seemed a little rushed, for I wanted to post the fourth chapter as soon as I could, and I will probably go back and edit it once it is.**

**This was a shorter chapter, but I promise the next one will be longer. I felt like the song "Kid Fears" really gives off strong Carol vibes to me, so I incorporated it into this chapter _(and the title)._You all will be excited for it, I'm sure. I won't say why, but you can probably guess. **

**Also, before I forget, happy New Year everybody!**

**For those wondering if I'm pairing Carol with one of the Losers and which one, I am trying to see where I can fit it in the story line. Personally, I think Carol could be paired with any of the Losers and it'd be great. I even made a chart and the pros and cons of each possible relationship (****_I know I'm a nerd, I'm proud of it!_****). I am very shipping indecisive and if I decide to pair her with one, I am going to have to see where it fits in the plot, which shouldn't be hard. I can't promise anything, but I will try to write in a little romance for those who want it, at the least a crush.**

**Also thanks to all those that reviewed, favorited, followed, or even read this story. Your support really motivates me!**

_**Hermione Romanoff: Again, thanks for the feedback! I'm glad you are enjoying my story. She WILL meet more Losers in the next chapter as we reenter movie canon.**_

**~ Robin M.**


	5. Lying So Low

Chapter 5: Lying So Low

_"All that night and all the next_

_Swam without looking back_

_Made for the western pools, silly, silly fools"_

_-Heart, "Barracuda"_

* * *

Carol woke up with a splitting headache.

Not only was she slightly nauseous when she opened her eyes to the blinding sunlight pouring through her bedroom window, but she found it incredibly painful to raise her head, for it was pounding intensely with dull, agonizing beats. She groaned involuntarily, burying her face in her pillow. There was already perspiration gathering on her skin, and her face felt hot, as if with fever. _This bites._

Carol managed to get up, wincing from the pain. She stumbled out of bed, her ears ringing shrilly as she clutched her temple in pain, and staggered over to the bathroom across the hall. The pale blue walls and white tiling hurt her eyes as she made her way over to the medicine cabinet above the sink. She opened the white, wooden doors and scanned its contents for some headache or pain medicine: Tylenol, ibuprofen, anything. Though all she was able to uncover was a first-aid kit, a bag of cough drops, and some Vicks VapoRub.

"What the-?" she mumbled, frustration and disbelief jumbled together into her disoriented, emotional mind. There was nothing to help the pain; the cabinet was virtually empty. "This is bullshit," she cursed, neglecting to use her favorite alternative _bologna._

Shuffling out of the bathroom, her temples throbbing painfully, she changed her direction to the kitchen, where her grandmother would undoubtedly be cooking breakfast. And she was correct, as the crisp scent of bacon and eggs drifted from the very room.

"Grandma?" she called, although it sounded more like a raspy slur. "Do we have any Tylenol or something?"

"I'm afraid not, sweetie," she heard Ethel respond. "Why? You sick?"

"No," Carol replied. "My head just hurts."

"Go and lie down on the couch and put a movie on or something. That should help."

_No shit,_ she thought silently. It _did_ sound tempting though, and her grandmother would probably bring her breakfast in for her to eat. She was getting used to the whole episodic nausea and vomiting thing, but she absolutely couldn't _stand_ headaches. If it wasn't better by the time her movie was finished, she was going out to get some medicine herself.

Trudging over to the VCR, she halfheartedly popped _The Breakfast Club_, her favorite movie, in before moving over to the couch and lying down. Carol draped one arm limply over the sofa's edge to where the bull terrier Spock lay, and he nuzzled her hand affectionately. Ethel brought in breakfast a few minutes later as the movie began to play, and she watched through droopy eyes.

Ethel always joked that Carol watched _The Breakfast Club_ so much that she'd "wear the tape out dry". The reason why she loved the film above all others, even that of her favorite genre horror, was because of the deep connections the characters formed. Though they were entirely different personality and popularity wise, they all found that they had similar problems with their parents, peer pressure, and people in general. It was a connection she never had, even with her closest friends, and she envied it as much as she enjoyed it.

She always considered herself a bit of an outsider, so she guessed she related the most to Allison. However, the quote that hit her the deepest was when Bender said, _"I could disappear forever and it wouldn't make any difference."_ She could understand that, she really could. It was a known fact that she was just your average small-town teenage girl; she was not pretty nor ugly, white, got decent grades, and these qualities helped her conform with the Derry crowd, whether willingly or not. And since she did not "put herself out there", nobody had a reason to care for her, or even remember her. She could go missing just like Donna and the other kids and it would not impact anyone else's lives, except her grandmother and maybe her friends.

Her eyes continued to stay glued to the screen of the television set, though Carol barely payed notice to the movie at all. Instead she rested, vaguely registering the soft hums and buzzes of the characters' voices, thinking, _Is there anyone? Anyone out there? Hello?_ Then a semi-delirious thought crossed her mind and hitchhiked onto her train of thought. _Ground control, do you copy? This is Major Tom. I'm stuck up here all alone and I can feel myself drifting away. Houston, we have a problem, a real fucking problem._

Although it was well over an hour, it was not long before the film concluded, John Bender walking away from detention in the football field and pumping his fist in the air with "Don't You" by Simple Minds playing in the background. Carol shut the TV off dismissively, somewhat envious of the happy ending. She knew that she herself would never get such a finale; no one who lived in the sack of rat shit called Derry would for that matter, she knew well enough.

_Alas,_ another one of those "crazy thoughts" cried in the young teenager's head, _John Hughes does not direct my life._

Carol brought one hand tentatively up to her once throbbing temple, purely out of sheer muscle memory. She discovered herself to be surprised with halfhearted pleasance that the majority of the pain had dissipated, leaving behind only a inner dull throb that was an echo of what it once was. It was a good omen; she could still use some medication down at the Derry Drug or pharmacy to relieve the remainder of the pain. She may as well get up and get motivated to do so.

Casting the empty plate of bacon and eggs aside (_her grandma would clean that up, Lord knows she would_), Carol went into her room, got dressed, stuffed her pack with her "necessities". The usual jazz. She reminded herself that her bike Stardust still had that deflated tire, so that would need quick repairs before she departed. She slung the pack over her shoulder, pausing only for half a second to adjust the strap before making her way to the living room, where she would then exit the front door. This was routine. This was normalcy.

"Where are you off to in such a rush, darlin'?" her grandmother asked as she approached the front door, turning around from the windowsill where she was watering her potted plants.

"The pharmacy," she replied, "to get some Tylenol. I also figured we could restock the medicine cabinet in the bathroom." '_Cause all we have freakin' Vicks VapoRub._

"All by yourself?" Ethel pressed, sounding almost shocked, to Carol's surprise.

"Yeah." She didn't understand what issue was present; she made trips into town alone plenty of times.

A tiny, bittersweet smile formed on Ethel's thin, aged lips, eyeing her granddaughter with what could've been pity. "You're growing up too fast, Carol Denise. I wish you'd never grow up."

Carol's hand clenched on the doorknob to the front door reflexively, almost painfully. She turned back to meet her grandmother's bittersweet, almost sympathetic gaze behind her ridiculously huge granny glasses. Her mouth opened, perhaps to say the thought repeating itself throughout her scattered mind. _Me too, Grandma. Me too._ Instead she managed to say, "Bye, Grandma. I'll be back before four," before heading out the door and closing it shut.

Stepping over to where Stardust lay at the porch steps, she grasped the handle bars and gently lead it over to the garage, where she lifted the gargantuan door open. There was no latch, and any robber or burglar passing through the neighborhood could enter inside and snatch some junk. Not that they had anything worth stealing in their garage; the Perkins family weren't that kind of household. Carol grabbed the air pump and inflated the tire of her bicycle without a terrible amount of exertion or strain. Once she was satisfied with her work, she hopped on the comfort of the worn leather seat and pedaled down the driveway into town as she did almost every day. She had decided firmly that she wasn't going to walk anywhere alone ever again, as the only times she did so in the past year resulted in horrific occurrences and one peculiar and sinister clown.

Carol did not listen to Bananarama or The Beatles as she journeyed into central Derry, instead the voice of Whitney Houston, a favorite of her friend Tabitha. "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" echoed as she took in the small-town scenery and residents milling about in the streets as she entered. It did not take extravagant navigational skills or direction to locate Derry's only pharmacy, as it was a common hangout location and hotspot for children and adolescents of all ages, twenty-four seven and year 'round.

However, today this did not prove to be the case as she pulled up in front of the building to halt her bike. Save for the occasional passerby walking up and down the sidewalk and a few kids of about eleven engaging in some sort of game in an alleyway across the street, there were none of the usual hangers gathered outside. Perhaps, Carol thought, they were assembled inside where it was air-conditioned and cool. It _was_ a rather decidedly hot day.

The little bell above the door jingled merrily as she entered, signaling her presence. The store was surprisingly relatively empty and devoid of life upon first glance, which she took as a good sign. The colorful aisles stood out in stark contrast to the white and pristine walls. It was rather _too_ white and pristine for her liking. This was not a problem for Carol, for she liked things to be clean, but it made the pharmacy so much more… _hollow_.

She immediately journeyed over to the medical aisle, which were stocked with the over-the-counter pharmaceuticals that she needed, scanning the labels of all the pills and little boxes displayed before her. Spotting the bold words _Tylenol_ on a box, she grabbed it. Then, glancing around, she searched for some ibuprofen. Tylenol was all she really needed for her ailment, but she might as well purchase some, as to stock up their medicine cabinet.

Once Carol had made all of her necessary purchases- which included the Tylenol, Advil, hydrogen peroxide, and several other unpronounceable cold medicines- she made her way over to the front counter, where an older man with rather large glasses (_the kind her grandmother would wear_) was tidying up his counter, which appeared to be in slight disarray. The man's name was Mr. Keene, and he was the designated owner of the pharmacy. He was either polite or his manner was disgruntled, and Carol learned from experience there was no inbetween.

"Excuse me," she interjected, desiring to catch the old man's attention. He caught sight of her at the checkout counter as she placed her selected items before him.

"Oh, right," Mr. Keene said, somewhat flustered as he readjusted his super-sized grandpa specs as he shifted back into work mode. He inspected the items that were brought to him, his eyes not all there. It was apparent that he wished to get this customer over with and return to whatever task was at hand.

When it was all said and done, Carol dutifully handed him the cash in exchange for her medicine and pharmaceuticals. She mumbled "Have a nice day" as she turned her back to the counter and towards the exit door, faintly hearing the old geezer mutter "Damn cigarettes" as she departed. Looking down to the bottom left corner of her vision, Carol's eyes also spotted several cartons and boxes knocked to the floor carelessly. _What a damn mess._

"Clean up on aisle three," one of Carol's crazy thoughts uttered. She was halfway out the door when she realized she had spoken outloud, and she couldn't help but give a half-empty smile. In fact, she gave a quiet, hollow laugh that nobody overheard but herself.

Standing outside in the early sunshine of noon, Carol stuffed her recent medicinal purchases into her pack. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from the center of her face. Despite the infamous June day heat, it was a rather nice day. Readjusting the strap of the pack on her shoulder, she decided she wouldn't go home just yet. After all, she had promised her grandma she'd be back by four, and there were still several hours to go. Maybe she'd go to the Aladdin to see a movie or snatch an ice cream.

With that though in tow, Carol grabbed the handlebars of her bike and made her way to the left of the pharmacy, in the direction of the petite ice cream shop only a few buildings down. She had made it a few feet before a movement at the edge of her peripheral vision urged her to turn her head.

There were six kids gathered in the alleyway to the left of the pharmacy, all who appeared to be about her age. She recognized the majority of them from classes they shared back when school was a reality and not a relieving memory impending upon them in the near future. A four-eyed boy with curly black hair and casual garments was hovering over a much shorter dark-haired boy, who was crouched before a heavyset kid, dirtied and bloodied to the point of unrecognition, at least in Carol's mind. Standing farther away from the alleyway entrance was a rather reserved looking boy with a head of dirty blonde curls, a taller, lankier kid with reddish-brown hair, and fairly pretty girl who's mane of ginger waves was tied back in a casual ponytail.

Carol was able to place names to most of them. For instance, the tallest of the brood was unmistakably Bill Denbrough, the older brother of the missing little boy George, and the girl was obviously Beverly Marsh, whom Carol had just formerly met the day before. She knew the last name of the kid with the four eyes, Tozier, although she couldn't recall if his first name was Richie or Ricky (_it was some nickname for Richard anway_). The curly-haired kid was Stanley (_right? or was it David?_) and the short boy was Eddie Kaspbrak; she recognized him from Social Studies. In fact, quite a few of them had probably been in that class. The boy on the ground she couldn't place a name to, most likely because of the grime and blood smearing his features. She couldn't help but feel déjà-vu looking at him though, knowing that they had met previously before but unable to recall who, when, or where.

For a few moments, she just stood there, watching them. Some inner urge deep within her wished to approach the group, but she didn't dare. There were too many questions racing in her mind. For instance, what was wrong with the kid on the ground? Was he hurt, because he sure looked like it. Did they need assistance, because Carol _did_ have medicine if they needed some. What was Beverly doing with them? If what she had heard yesterday was correct, the redheaded girl didn't have any friends. _Should I talk to her? Would she even remember me? Should I talk to _any_ of them?_

It was not long before the Stanley kid (_or David_) spotted her standing in the opening of the alleyway and caught her staring at the group. When he did, one by one, the rest of the ragtag gang slowly started to turn their heads toward her with questioning gleams in their eyes. _Shit._ Carol could only meet their gazes, unsure of what to say._ I must seem like such a nosy asshole._

"Do you n-need something?" the tallest of the group, Denbrough, asked her.

For several agonizing seconds, Carol was at a loss for words. To avoid any more unnecessary embarrassment than she was already facing, she drew her eyes away, flicking them back and forth between each of their faces. _For chrissakes, say something, you idiot._

It was Beverly who broke the silence, asking, "Carol?" Her blue-green eyes lit up and a grin began to spread throughout the stretches of her freckled face. "Long time, no see."

Carol nodded to her, allowing the tight lines of her mouth loosen up and curve into a small smile, the tension of her muscles relaxing. "Long time, no see, Bev." It was easier and more assuring seeing the ginger's sunny smile and sparkling eyes. With her fiery hair and warm expressions, she kind of reminded Carol of Andie from _Pretty In Pink._

"What are you you doing here?" Beverly inquired, now paying the newcomer her undivided attention and ignoring her companions.

She shrugged, grasping the strap of her pack, still slung over her shoulder. "Headache," Carol explained, not even lying the slightest. "Hurts like a bitch." She turned her gaze now to the disheveled boy on the ground. There was something about his face, the way his eyes sparkled with recognition. _The last day of school…_

It hit her like an oncoming freight train. _Walkman._

"I have some medicine for him, if you need some," Carol offered, taking a few tentative steps closer to where the group stood. "I bought some painkillers and stuff for the hell of it, but you can have some." She wasn't entirely sure why she felt obligated to do so, given that she barely knew any of the kids, but she was more than willing to contribute.

"Y-You don't need t-to do that," Denbrough interjected. "W-W-We already have p-plenty of medicine, thanks to Beverly." He sent a shy yet grateful look in the other girl's direction, which she pleasantly returned.

Carol shrugged it off. "Take some anyway. It's the least I can do." She shifted her gaze to the boy she had dubbed in her mind the kid with the Walkman, assessing his bloodied t-shirt and the oddly shaped cut in his stomach. "He looks like he's gonna need it." Slipping her pack off from its usual perch on her shoulder, she walked over to stand next to him and Eddie, unzipping it and excavating it for the required medicine.

"Who is this chick, anyway?" the boy with the thick-lensed glass, Richard Tozier, finally spoke up. Although Carol was not entirely familiar with him, his close friends were vaguely surprised he had managed to go so long without a interruptive comment or some awful joke.

Beverly said, "It's okay, Carol's cool." She turned to the brunette with a pleasant grin. "We're friends."

She jerked her head up briefly at that statement, slightly shocked that Beverly already considered the two more than acquaintances. She never had any friends outside of her own social circle, so the idea of someone like Beverly Marsh willing to befriend her was entirely foreign. Carol managed to nod, however, and replied, "Yeah, me and Bev have hung out this summer." Which wasn't exactly a lie, for they did share a conversation the previous day at the Aladdin theater. She returned back to rummaging through her pack.

"I'm Bill," Denbrough introduced as she searched. "The others are Stan, Eddie, Ben, and R-Richie."

Ben. So that was the kid with the Walkman's name. Now that she ruminated on it, she could recall there being a new student by the name of Benjamin, who went by Ben, although pretty much the entire student population referred to him as "the New Kid". Carol took out the medicine and nodded. "Cool beans. I'm Carol Chamblers, but that's kinda a given."

Richie, the four eyed kid, grinned and struck out a hand to her. "Pleasure to meet ya, Miss Carol! Richie Tozier's my name, and doing Voices is my game!"

Carol eyed him apprehensively, unsure of what to make of his upfront and exaggerated mannerisms. "What do you mean, Voices?"

"Richie does Voices." This time it was Eddie who spoke up, applying disinfectant to Ben's wound as he did so. "It's really quite annoying, actually."

"Your mom likes my voices just fine," Richie retorted, grinning. "She tells me so. Especially at night when I come over and touch her-"

"Gross Rich!" Eddie complained, wrinkling his small nose in revulsion. "Don't even fucking go there!" It was clear his friend had played that particular card multiple times before, and he knew what the punchline was.

The maniacal grin of impish delight on Richie's face only widened as his jest struck home. He kept up his jovial act as he ruffled his friend's carefully groomed hair playfully. "Don't be jealous, Eds. I know you love my Voices, too."

"No, I don't," Eddie returned hotly. "And don't call me Eds."

Carol eyed the odd exchange of banters between the two, then turned to Stan, puzzled. He gave her a look that replied, _They do this all the time._ Carol smiled and nodded, bending down to crouch next to Eddie and Ben.

Able to eye Ben's wound more attentively, Carol noted that the deep cut she had found so bizarre earlier strikingly resembled the letter "H". _This was no accident._ "How'd this happen?" she asked to nobody specifically.

"I- I just fell," Ben stammered, appearing suddenly self conscious and embarrassed.

Richie scoffed. "Yeah, right into Henry Bowers!" Several of the others, including Eddie, Stan, and Bill, gave him a warning glare that demanded silence. _Don't do this again,_ they seemed to say.

Carol stared at the "H" grimly. _Should've known._ It was common knowledge that there was hardly a limit to Henry's brutality, tormenting those below him. Of course Ben would be one of his prime targets.

Reaching out her hand, she gave Eddie the painkillers, which he nodded his thanks for. Many over boxes of medicine and containers of pills were placed neatly on the ground beside his feet. Regardless of how prepared Eddie seemed to be, Carol could not help but stare at the ugly cut engraved in Ben's dirtied flesh. She didn't need to be an expert at injuries like Eddie Kaspbrak to know that that would leave a scar.

"W-W-We'll take care of him," Bill assured. Then he turned to the other girl amongst their group. "Thanks again, Beverly."

Beverly nodded, although she vaguely looked disappointed that Bill was dismissing her so hastily. "Sure," she replied. "Maybe I'll see you around." Though this last statement sounded more like an invitation rather than a parting goodbye.

Backtracking, Bill added, "W-We're going to the q-q-quarry tomorrow, if you wanna come." Catching Carol's eye, he faced her and added, "You can come t-too, if you like."

The other boys perked up and looked to their companion with confused surprise. Obviously, this was new information to them as well.

Although slightly surprised at the other teen's invitation, she nodded, saying, "Sure. Stellar. I'll be there." She wasn't not entirely sure what she was getting herself into, some inner sense assured her that these boys could be trusted.

The pretty redhead also nodded, her face especially chipper. "Good to know. Thanks." With a final friendly smile, particularly at Ben and especially Bill, she exited the alleyway, a pack of Marlboro cigarettes clutched loosely in her hands.

_Damn cigarettes._ Carol could barely restrain her grin of amusement and slight admiration. _Oh Beverly, you clever fucker, you._

Now that Bev had departed, Carol was struck with the realization that she was stuck alone with five other boys she scarcely knew. While it was slightly awkward, she made up her mind to stay, deciding it would be rather unfair to just leave the others and make it apparent that she had only interacted with them because Bev was there. She would stick around with them a while longer. After all, Carol had never had any boy friends before, and her curiosity longed to be satisfied.

The others watched as Beverly disappeared out of sight and earshot, Eddie standing up and wiping off his hands. When there was no longer any trace of the redheaded teen on the sidewalk, Stan faced the others and scolded, "Nice going, bringing up Bowers in front of her."

"Yeah dude," Eddie jumped in, "you know what she did!"

Both the interests of Ben and Carol were piqued. Carol could bet on it had something to do with the "whore rumors" that other kids spread around school, as it was often the only thing the fiery ginger was known for among their peers, besides her poverty.

"What'd she do?" Ben asked, concern and curiosity apparent in his voice.

"More like _who'd_ she do," Richie corrected, a smirk marring his face and the eyes behind his Coke-bottle lenses brightening up, as if a light bulb just appeared over his head like in the cartoons on television, some clever joke coming to mind. "Wanna hear the list? It's longer than my wang!" To emphasize, he stroked the crotch of his pants.

"That's not saying much," Stan responded, rolling his eyes. Carol grinned.

"T-They're j-j-just rumors," Bill immediately claimed, in defense of the absent girl.

Richie shrugged off the sarcastic reply and turned back to Ben and Carol. "Anyway, _Bill_ had her back in third grade," he informed the two newest members. "They kissed in the school play! The reviews said you can't fake that sorta passion!"

Carol did not miss the way Ben glanced down slightly, red creeping slowly up his cheeks as he attempted to maintain a neutral expression. Anyone else might of seen this as awkwardness, but Carol could feel his dismay.

_Ohhh, that makes sense. He likes her._ But it felt more intense than that, she knew. She could only imagine the crushing agony of hurt he would endure if the other girl didn't reciprocate his feelings of passion. Meanwhile, Bill too blushed and turned away, embarrassed. She also didn't miss the glances he sent Beverly's way when she was there; he was obviously attracted to her.

_Oh Lordy, I don't need no love triangle drama. This ain't no _Pretty In Pink.

Richie, apparently deciding enough gossip was enough, clapped his hands together decisively. "Now, pip-pip and tally-ho my good fellows!" he exclaimed in a rather poor impersonation of a British man (_This must've been one of his "Voices"_). "I do believe this chap requires our utmost attention! Get in there, Dr. K! Come on, fix 'em up!"

Eddie, crouching down on his knees to apply more ointment to Ben's cut and not turning to his friend, replied, "Why don't you shut the fuck up Einstein, because I know what I'm doing and I don't need you doing the British Guy right now."

As Carol chuckled to herself and Stan gave the two a tired eyeroll, Richie, in his maniacal excitement, shouted, "Suck the wound! Get in there!" This was much to the smaller boy's opposistion.

While Riche continued to harass his little spitfire friend, Carol observed attentively as Eddie continued to dress Ben's wound with careful precision, his small, nimble fingers moving cautiously with his dark brown eyes sharp with clear focus. "You're good at this, Eddie. Where did you learn to do this?"

Before he had the chance to respond, Richie took the liberty of doing so. "Eddie Spaghetti here is a hypochondriac," he explained, drawing out the word _hypochondriac_, "so he flips his shit if he so much as scrapes his knee."

"I don't flip out!" Eddie retorted. "And for your information, there is, like, gazillions of bacteria on the sidewalks. Do you know how many infections you can get from an unattended scrape? I could get blood poisoning or something. And don't call me Eddie Spaghetti!"

Richie held up his hands in mock apology and surrender. "Sorry, Spaghetti Man. I know Eds is your favorite, right?"

"No, it fucking isn't."

"Edward Spaghedward? Eduardo Spagheduardo? _Eddiekins?_"

"Nothing you say makes any fucking sense," Eddie accused, finally deciding to ignore him and return to his task.

Carol glanced back and forth between the two, amused by their bantering antics. Then, with a happening glance upon her watch, she reslung her pack across her shoulder and announced, "Well, I better get going, too. Fancy meeting y'all."

"You too, Carol," Bill replied. Stan nodded to her with a small smile.

Ben smiled gratefully and said, "Thanks for the painkillers, Carol."

"No problem," she returned. "We're all peachy."

Eddie said goodbye to her as well, and Richie struck out his hand once more. "So long, Christmas Carol! 'Til we meet again!

She laughed as she tentatively took it and gave it a shake. "Christmas Carol?"

"Richie gives everyone a nickname," Stan explained to her. "It's kinda like a rite of passage."

_A rite of passage._ That made Carol smile brightly. She stepped away and started to walk out of the alley to her bike. "See ya tomorrow, guys."

The boys bid farewell, Richie adding, "And until next time!" and something about leaving her blinds open that night. Carol chuckled, for the first time the entire summer feeling as if that piece of her missing was starting to mend itself.

On the way back home, Carol's headache was all but forgotten.

…

It was a quarter till four when Carol arrived back home. Upon stepping inside the residence, one quick inspection informed her that her grandmother was currently in the laundry room putting dirty clothes in the washer. Without a word, she not too surreptitiously stepped into her bedroom and flung herself down on the sinking softness of her matress, the events of the day whirling around in her brain like a torrential windstorm.

It wasn't that the occurrences of the day had any negative impact on her; quite the contrary, in fact. It was the idea that the encounter with Bill, Ben, Beverly, Richie, Eddie, and Stan in the alleyway beside Mr. Keene's pharmacy, something entirely foreign to her, had been so smooth and easy that she still found herself perplexed by it all even now. She was unsure if the others could grasp an understanding of the feeling as she could herself, but Carol perceived a strong connection formed between the seven of them as soon as she interacted with them in the alley. It was as if it was preordained; it was what she might've called a "sucky explanation", but it was the only one her creative mind could provide. Whatever it was, the perception she sensed was almost indefinitely and surely a special bond.

Whatever it was, whether a new prospect of friendship or not, it was definitely new nonetheless. _Just like in that Madonna song. Like a virgin being touched for the very first time._

Deciding that music was often the go-to remedy for easing her troubles, she withdrew her Walkman from her pack and popped a new track in, then lied back with the earphones in. The first song to play was Survivor's "The Search Is Over".

She wanted to remember and absorb everything about them. The kind yet charismatic expression that settled itself upon Bill's visage when greeting her. The shy blush that crept up Ben's face, skin soiled with blood and grime. The way Stan shoved his hands in his pockets and stood straight when he kept his silence. The crooked angle of Richie's glasses and the upturned twist of his goofy smirk. The lively sparkle and depth of Eddie's dark brown eyes. The way Beverly's fiery red hair gleamed like crackling flames in the rays of the afternoon sun. She wished for these images and perceptions to be engraved in her memory to satisfy some urge she could not explain, storing it all away securely, safe and protected from the ravenous maw of forgetting.

"The Search Is Over" concluded and Berlin's "Take My Breath Away" started to sound soothingly in her ears instead. With her eyes half-closed and her hands folded gently over her bosom, Carol could clearly envision within the creative accesses of her mind the faces of Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, Richie, and Beverly. Their eyes were shining with the youthful brightness akin to stars and warm, friendly smiles that spoke of a safe place from all of her worries and fears. And, as the sunshine of the June afternoon poured through the pristine glass of her bedroom window across the room, Carol found herself smiling softly as well.

_Carol._

_What was that?_ Did she really just hear her name? She vaguely wondered if her grandmother was calling for her or if she was just imagining things, believing part of the music track to be one thing when it was really the other. Just to clarify, she turned off her Walkman and removed her earbuds, listening closely.

_Carol._

Now she was positive she was not conjuring the noise with her imagination. Creeping tentatively over to her bedroom window, she stole a peek outside to spot anyone in the yard or on the street that could be calling her name. But the outside world beyond the feeble glass pane was deserted as per usual. Then, she cautiously crept over to the hallway outside her bedroom door, which hung ajar. The surrounding area of the house was empty, drawing her to the conclusion that her grandmother was still doing business in the laundry room. Not that she expected it to be Ethel, for the voice sounded far younger and high-pitched.

Clear as day, the voice came again in a faint, choking sob. _Carol!_

It was the voice of a child, that was abundantly clear, and most indefinitely a male one at that. It sent foreboding chills down Carol's spine and stung her eyes. She was almost entirely certain she recognized it from somewhere before, but it was so soft and distorted that she couldn't be positive. It was like playing Telephone underwater, which she and her friends did over the summers before the disappearances drifted them apart. _Where have I heard that voice before…_

With great, careful caution, Carol proceeding softly toward the source of the noise, which was emitting from the dark shadows of the bathroom down the hall. The voice was no longer calling her name, but simply uttering soft, muffled cries and sobs. Opening the bathroom door further, Carol flipped the light switch, and the space was illuminated with artificial light. There was no sign that anyone was currently or had ever been there, yet the sons were still sounding, much louder and clearer than before. Then she turned her head to the batmhtub.

_It's… coming from the bathtub?_

Against her own better judgement, Carol crawled into the tight porcelain bowl, crouching before the dark black eye of the slightly rusted drain. There was no doubt in her mind that this was where the boy was trapped, desperate and in need of help. She felt compelled herself to provide her own assistance, the familiar cries of terror and panic to painful for her ears to hear. Then, all of a sudden, as she leaned closer, the crying sobs were abruptly silenced.

Despite the obvious sketchiness and danger of the situation, Carol's curiosity and fear compelled her to lean her face even closer to the maw of the drain, peering inquisitively into black abyss of the rusted hole. That's when something suddenly shifted into her line of sight. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust and realize what it was, and when she did, she let out an exclamation of shock and horror.

It was an eye. Golden, malicious, inhuman.

Gagging wretchedly, Carol scrambled away from the mouth of the bathtub drain. She did so until her head hit the back of the porcelain tub, her stomach swimming intensely. And there was no time for her to escape as a single gloved index finger rose out of the circular dark hole. With slow deliberation, it beckoned her forth with all the horror and fright necessary to send bile up Carol's throat and paralyze her in the end of the bathtub.

_Come down with us, Carol,_ the voice urged, rough and sinister with a monstrous quality. _He floats. They all float!_

In response, Carol Chamblers threw up all over herself.

* * *

**AN: I apologize for releasing this chapter later than I said I would, but school's been taking up a lot of my time. I will try to upload every one to two weeks. I also have part of the sixth chapter written, so that will more than likely be released sooner.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This is the second longest one I've written so far. I rewatched the movie recently to make sure this chapter was accurate, as I haven't read the book in a while. I plan on doing so soon, and when I do, I might touch thingd up a little bit here and there to make it more faithful to King's novel. The next one will take place at the quarry, so get ready for some Loser bonding!**

**Also, I am making two Spotify playlists for this story. One is the official track for the story itself, the other being a compilation of songs I believe Carol would have listened to. I will provide the information for them once they are completed.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment! Feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated.**

_**Hermione Romanoff: Thanks again for the feedback! I am glad you are enjoying my story; I am enjoying yours as well. Sadly, Curtis' death won't be the last. Pennywise will feed more before the Losers enter the picture! Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter!**_

**~ Robin M.**


	6. Drift In And Out

Chapter 6: Drift In And Out

_"Home is where I want to be_

_Pick me up and turn me around_

_I feel numb, born with a weak heart_

_I guess I must be having fun"_

_-Talking Heads, "This Must Be The Place"_

* * *

Tuesday morning was a seemingly promising one, blissful sunshine flooding Carol's bedroom with delicate, ethereal light that dazzled her eyes once she opened them. It was a slightly uplifting sight after a poor night of rest, but that was a given due to the horrific oddity she had witnessed the previous afternoon.

After she had thrown up, Carol had glanced down to gaze at her soiled self and very nearly screamed. By the time she had dragged her eyes back up to the rusted mouth of the bathtub drain, the beckoning gloved hand had completely disappeared. Although still mortified by the sight, Carol did not immediately leave the bathroom, for she still had felt disgusting and did not want her grandmother to see her in such a state, physically and emotionally. Instead, she had crawled out of the tub and huddled on the floor, trying and eventually succeeding at regaining her composure. However, it was an hour or a few before she had actually mustered the courage to cleanse herself of her vomit.

She tried not to linger upon the occurrence for too long, for she knew no good would come out of doing so. Still, Carol couldn't help but ponder somewhat despairingly of how many times such horrifying encounters would worm their way into her life. As if she didn't have enough problems already, with the disappearances of Donna and the other missing children, as well as the rifts continuing to grow within their friend group. And that was not even counting her own internal battles that she endured countless days.

_Can't catch a break, not a damn break,_ she had thought as the water that spurted from the shower head had peppered her skin, washing the barf from her pale skin in a river of repulsive bile.

Needless to say, Carol had locked herself within her room for the majority of the remainder of the day, listening to the reassuring and comforting music of her Walkman to sooth her troubles as they usually did. Ethel had to practically draw her out of the bedroom after a grueling struggle of nearly thirty minutes to eat the spaghetti and meatballs she had prepared for the night.

But now, although the events of the days past plagued her thoughts in the cramped apartments of her head, Carol locked up their doors and walked over to the sun-filled bedroom window, peering through the sparkling glass to observe the happenings of the outside world. Derry life seemed to carry on as usual, a few merry folks walking up and down the street; some with dogs, others with kids, and some were just by themselves. The sun shone down upon the neighborhood and painted Carol an image of a picturesque, ideal American town, like the kind advertised in posters and billboards in the fifties.

Despite this, Carol knew that the scene before her was merely the town collaborating with the weather to create a fooling piece of propaganda. All it did was poorly mask the town's woes and dilemmas. Sometimes, even the light could reach the darkest places, but could not disguise its secrets.

_Here comes the Sun,_ Carol sang in her head, an unamused, empty smile settling on her ashy, pale face. _Here comes the Sun and I say it's all right._

It was a nice day, swell even, the weather compliant enough to allow the ideal day for swimming. Although Carol was looking forward to the event, a deep pit of worry was gnawing within her stomach. Her rendez-vous with the six others was at the quarry, which meant getting there would lead her through the untamed wilderness of the Barrens, where Donna went missing back in April.

_The Barrens is dangerous,_ Carol fretted. _Donna went missing there with who knows how many countless other kids. There's probably quicksand and serial killers and rapists and venomous insects…_

But instead of continuing the fearful rant in her head, Carol pushed it aside, knowing all too well that if she did, she may end up changing her mind about going to the quarry. And besides, the others were going to have to reach there the same way as she was. Hell, Bill had a missing _brother_ and he was going out there on his own. If they could do it, surely she could as well.

A faint rapping of knuckles sounded upon her wooden door. "Carol? Are you awake, sweetie? Breakfast is ready."

"Coming, Grandma," she responded, shuffling away from her position at the window and exiting her bedroom. Upon entering the kitchen, she observed the stack of waffles piled up on one of the large white plates, peppered and bespeckled with indigo spots.

"They're blueberry," her grandmother informed her teenage granddaughter. "I used up all the leftover ones we bought from the market."

Carol nodded. "Thanks, Grandma." She settled down in her chair and started to lift one up with her fork and place it onto her plate.

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder why her grandmother was so _kind_ to her, treating her like the little five year old she once was when she was still living with her mother and father and carried her stuffed badger Frances around like a security blanket. She supposed Ethel was sorry that Carol couldn't be with her parents all the time and was attempting to make up for it. Or more likely she was disillusioned into believing that in doing so could prevent her daughter's little Carol Denise from growing up, which she had tried and failed to do with Lucille. Because if that happened, Ethel would be alone again.

She guessed she knew now where she got that fear from.

As she reached to grab the bottle of maple syrup, Ethel asked her, "It's a swell day today. Do you and your friends have any plans to hang out?"

Carol was so taken aback by the question that she did not register the excessive drip of maple syrup onto her blueberry waffle. She did indeed have plans, but not with people like Tabitha, Deborah, Marcie, Estelle, and Priscilla. She had not yet informed her grandmother about the new people she had met in the alleyway next to the pharmacy the previous day, and was not entirely sure of how Ethel would take such information.

Withdrawing the bottle and setting it aside, she replied, "Actually, we were going to go swimming today." She wasn't entirely not telling the truth, for she _was_ going to swim today. The whole thing was that Ethel did not know just what people she was going to hang out with, and she didn't need to.

Her grandmother smiled with delight at this new

(_lie_)

piece of information. "Oh, that's wonderful, Carol! It's so great that you girls are hanging out again."

_Oh, if only you knew, Grandma,_ Carol thought, giving the older woman a nod and a smile.

Once she had almost finished her meal and Ethel exited the kitchen, Carol cast aside her nearly empty plate of breakfast and treaded over to the kitchen phone, where she dialed Estelle White's home phone number. Although her and her friends were drifting apart like autumn leaves blowing in the wind from the mother tree, she still cared for the girls and wanted to check in. After all, that's what friends did, right?

It took a couple of steady rings for her chum to answer, but it was not terribly long, for Carol knew that Estelle was most indefinitely an early bird. The two girls chatted, though the conversation that ensued was not particularly uplifting, for the rifts that had been created within the circle of six were still undeniably unyielding. Carol asked about Tabitha. Estelle answered that Tabitha had been out of the house quite a lot in the recent days of summer, then asked about Deborah. Carol answered that she didn't know about Debs. She asked for news about Marcie. Yes, she was back home and yes, her Aunt Geraldine had a stroke, but was going to be fine.

When a pause followed and there was no more information to be exchanged between the two teenagers, the girls bid farewell to each other, Estelle stating that Carol should come over sometime. She promised she would (_it very well could've been an empty one_) and hung up. Her grandmother nowhere in sight, she immediately headed to her bedroom, wanting to get a head start on her day as soon as possible.

The sun was not yet concealed, the space still flooded with glittering morning stardust. It was going to be an undoubtedly hot day, Carol could already forsee that, crafting it to become the ideal day for a swim in the quarry. With that thought in tow, she opened the wooden doors to her dreaded closet, scanning it's dark maw and the contents within it thoughtfully.

Carol had only one bathing suit, which was a fair blue two-piece. While it was far from being your traditional bikini, she still felt anxious and uncomfortable at the prospect of revealing so much skin to six other teenagers that she hardly knew personally, despite how she felt around them. However, it was either that or to show up in her bra and underwear, and she was not going to do that.

Sighing, she grabbed the swimsuit and shut the closet doors (_she did so a little too quickly)._ Holding the piece up before her in the mirror, Carol frowned as she assessed the situation. The two-piece only showed a little of her stomach, and was a far cry from being even remotely attention grabbing. It would have to do, despite the worry that it revealed a little too much of her thinning figure. But, Carol reminded herself, they would be in the quarry's waters for the majority of the time. And besides, if only she had noticed this change, then surely she would still remain to be the only one.

Undressing from her pajamas and changing into the bathing suit, she searched for some more comfortable clothes to slip over, settling on a pair of pastel fabric shorts and a band t-shirt. That way, she assured herself, she wouldn't have to stroll around town and into the Barrens half-naked.

After shoving a towel, sunscreen, her Walkman, and extra bandages into her pack, she considered herself ready to go and meet the others. What made the situation so complicated, however, was that Bill and the others had never given her a set time for their rendez-vous. It was probable that she could arrive and wait for hours before the six arrived, or that it could be the other way around. Carol made up her mind to go in the late morning, hoping that would be as early as possible.

Carol checked her watch. It was currently nine fifty-three. She had not trekked into the Barrens for a while, and she didn't know how bad they were now, so it would be safer to head out a little earlier than she had planned in case she got lost.

_It's just the quarry,_ Carol reminded herself. _It's not that far._

Heading out into the living room, that torrential flood of early sunshine was still flowing through the large window and filling the house with what Carol would call "happy vibes". Which was odd, she thought, because Derry hadn't been exactly "vibing" with her lately. Her grandmother was sitting in the glider rocker with the late morning news turned on the television set.

"Grandma?" she asked, getting the older woman's attention. "I'm heading out."

"Okay," Ethel replied. "Remember the curfew. You girls go have fun."

_Girls? Yeah, right,_ she silently replied. "Sweet. See ya." And just like that, Carol Chamblers stepped out the door, each pace she took leading her one inch closer to yet another event that would soon reshape her life for the rest of her existence.

Hopping onto the trusty, worn leather seat of Stardust, Carol pedaled off down toward Kansas Street, the easiest and most well known access to the wilderness and untamed woodland known by the locals of Derry as the Barrens. The skin of her thighs chafing against the rough, hardened bicycle seat, she inserted her earbuds and played one of her plethora of mixtapes on her Walkman. Boston's "More Than A Feeling", a favorite tune of hers, comforted her anxieties on the trip.

_I looked out this morning and the sun was gone_

_Turned on some music to start my day_

_I lost myself in a familiar song_

_I closed my eyes and I slipped away_

Smiling, Carol's spirits were lifted further as she made several turns, until arriving at the relatively deserted yet familiar road that was Kansas Street, the darkness of the almost sinister, looming trees overshadowing the road on the right side. She halted, knowing to proceed with caution. She could not ride Stardust through the Barrens, unless she wanted to inflate yet another flat tire. Hopping off with an internal sigh, she grabbed the faded, once colorful handlebars to tread on foot from there.

The Barrens were not nearly as awful as Carol's imagination made them out to be, yet she was still wary as she traveled through, each twig snapping and leaf crackling sounding to her ears as the menacing footsteps of a killer as wild and as deadly as the woodland it inhabited. Eventually though, Carol found sunlight yet again once she entered a clearing, out of the ceiling shadows of the trees. Sheer drops wrapped around the pool of water many feet below, the cliffs unassuming and as grassy as a pasture at the top. This was the quarry.

Parking her bike and propping it against a nearby tree, Carol took her Walkman and prodded over to the edge of the cliff, plopping down on the dying, yellow grass and dangling her feet over. The song now was "Summer Of '69" by Bryan Adams. She would sit there, glued to the grassy cliff's edge and listen to her precious music, waiting for the others to arrive as she slipped into her own void and observed the beautiful summer scenery surrounding her.

Not quite ten minutes later, the sound of twigs and leaves crackling cutted through her music and had Carol turn around. The stumbling figure of Ben Hanscom exiting the enclosure of the treeline came into view.

_Ah, another early bird._

"Hey Walkman," she greeted, removing her headphones from her ears temporarily.

Ben stared at her in mild perplexity. "Walkman?"

"Yeah," she responded, "because when I met you, you had a Walkman."

"Oh," he said, eyes widening with understanding. "The last day of school. Yeah, you almost floored me."

She chuckled. "We should've both been paying attention." She patted the ground beside her. "Sit."

Ben obeyed, plodding over and plopping down beside her. He never said anything immediately, so to spare themselves both from the awkwardness of silence, Carol asked, "Why you here so early?"

Ben shrugged. "Well, I've never really been here before, so I thought I'd head out early. Y'know, if I got lost… or something."

Carol nodded. "Fair enough. So, Walkman," she started, "what kind of music do you listen to? Any guilty pleasures?" The topic of music, she found, was always a fantastic conversation starter, as it never became boring to her personally.

He averted his eyes only briefly, as if he did not want to reveal to this other girl about the genre of songs he enjoyed. "I'll listen to pop and stuff. My favorite's New Kids On The Block?" The last part he asked was more like an open-ended question.

"I should've guessed you were a NKOTB fan," she answered with a grin. "You seem like the boyband type. I don't particularly listen to them myself, but their song 'Hangin' Tough' is quite the headbanger."

"I love 'Hangin' Tough'!" Ben replied. "Although my favorite would probably have to be 'Please Don't Go Girl'." Glancing at her earphones, his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What song are you listening to?"

Grasping them, Carol reinserted them in her ears and listened attentively. She answered, "'Come Together'."

He admitted, "Never heard of it."

Carol turned to stare at Ben, stunned and somewhat appalled. "You've _never_ heard this song before? Do you listen to The Beatles at _all_?"

"I- I know some tunes," Ben stammered. "I know 'Hey Jude'. And 'Imagine'...

"Oh dear God, you poor child," Carol remarked with genuine yet exaggerated pity. "'Imagine' isn't even a Beatles song."

"Wait, it isn't?"

"It's John Lennon. There's a difference." She removed her headphones. "Please do me a favor and listen to them sometime, you'll like them. They're, like, the band of bands."

Ben considered this, then grinned brightly. "Deal, but only if you listen to New Kids."

Carol stuck out a hand to shake his own. "I am _so_ up for it."

The conversation momentarily on hold, the two teens stared down at the tranquil yet exhilarating waters below their precariously dangling feet. Ben asked, "You come here often?"

"I used to," she replied, "before things in Derry started to go to shit." She glanced out at the surrounding landscape. "I forgot how peaceful it could be. And fun, of course." She scanned the clearing thoughtfully. "I wonder when the others will be here."

As if on some silent summon, the chatter of four pubescent boys could be heard within the trees, and the figures of Bill, Richie, Eddie, and Stan withdrew from the forest. No sign of Beverly, though.

_Speak of the Devil,_ Carol thought, amused, _and the Devil comes right to you._

"Christmas Carol! Haystack! Fancy meeting you here!" Richie greeted rather loudly and jovial in a poor British accent that made Carol, who personally found true British accents quite attractive (_she'd never tell anyone this_), cringe internally. It did not stop the small smile playing across her lips, however.

"H-Hey guys," Bill interjected, much more quiet and formal than his curly-haired, four eyed companion. The entire quartet of boys had brought bicycles, just like Carol and Ben did, and with Richie was a rather large metallic "boombox".

Upon their arrival, they boys began to strip from the clothes that they were wearing, shirts and shorts and all, until they were left standing in just their boxers. Ben, seeing this but looking highly uncomfortable about the circumstances, decided to follow their lead and did the same. Carol just stood there dumbfounded.

_I thought they were going to be in, like, swimming trunks_, she thought incredulously. _What the hell are they doing in their fucking underwear? Am I the only one wearing an actual bathing suit?_

Feeling obligated to do the same, just as Ben had succumbed to peer pressure (_it was so odd hearing that word in association with these dweebs_), Carol removed her shorts and discarded her t-shirt over to where her bicycle Stardust was parked (_so long, The Rolling Stones)_.

"Where's Beverly?" Ben questioned the new arrivals, a mixture of both hope and disappointment in his eyes as Carol stood before the others awkwardly in her her bathing suit.

Bill said, "I d-don't know. M-m-maybe she j-just isn't here yet."

_I hope that's the case,_ Carol reflected. She hoped internally that nothing too bothersome or worrisome was holding the other girl of the group up. After all, the Barrens were the location of many Derry childrens' disappearances, including Donna's.

"Well, I think we should wait for her before we go swimming," she suggested. Ben nodded in agreement, which Bill and the others seemed to affirm and accept.

Eddie also suggested, "We can play loogie."

Richie whooped and pumped his fists. "I am the loogie _champion_, fellas!"

Carol gave him a disbelieving stare. "Seriously?" But the posse had already aligned themselves at the steep dropoff. Ben turned to her, shrugged, and walked off to join them, leaving her with no other choice but to follow suit. She stood amongst them, between Ben and Eddie, and followed their gazes to the bottom of the cliff.

It was then, staring over the edge at the quarry water down below, that she was suddenly struck with a realization that had never occurred to her before. _Oh God, I forgot I can barely swim. W_hat the bloody hell was she thinking, never informing these kids she had just now recently become acquainted with that she sank like a stone in deep water?

Keeping this to herself, however, she watched with mild interest as the other boys, even Ben, began to participate in the game, which Carol personally should've stayed in the third grade where it belonged. Nevertheless, she observed the antics of the boys with an amused glint in her eyes.

One by one, going down the line as if in some sort of drill, each boy took his turn in producing a wad of spit in their gums and rather ungraciously cast it over the edge of the cliff, where it fell like the world's most pathetic and whimpiest bomb into the water below. Eddie had particularly bad luck at this, his loogie barely making it past the grassy dropoff.

"Oh my God, that was terrible!" Richie crowed victoriously. "I win!"

Eddie exclaimed, "What?!" in protest.

"Yeah."

"Did you _see_ my loogie?" Several of the others, including Stan and Carol, rolled their eyes in amusement and boredom.

"Mine went the furthest," Richie explained to the shorter boy. "We've been going for distance."

"Mass," Eddie corrected. "It's always been mass."

As Richie spluttered for a response, the other boy began to present a more thorough explanation. "Who cares how far it goes? It's all about how cool it looks-"

Carol, however, was not at all amused by the two boys' antics. Instead, she glanced over the edge to where their balls of spit had descended many, many feet below from where their feet were securely rooted to the grassy ground above._ For now._

"So guys, have you ever done this before?" she questioned, not tearing her gaze away from the deep, foreboding blue water. "I've swam there before, but have never actually jumped from this particular height. I've heard that if you jump from high enough into water it's like landing on pavement. Also, how exactly deep is this water, 'cause I don't like to swim-"

"Cheer _up_, Sleepy Jean!" Richie joked. Then, when he caught the look on Carol's face that informed him she understood the musical reference, his already crooked smirk widened with delight and pleasure. To her dismay, Richie began to belt out the lyrics to "Daydream Believer" by The Monkees, horribly off key.

_"Cheer up, Sleepy Jean! Oh, what can it mean-"_

Carol let loose an exasperated sigh. "Is your natural default setting 'Asshole', Rich?" Bill was shooting the two amused glances. Stan looked like he wanted to throw himself off the face of the cliff and kill himself.

_"-to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?!"_

"If you are going to sing timeless music," she interjected, "at least do so correctly." Then, she grinned, realizing how she could turn the tables on this smart aleck sonofabitch. "But I guess I must give you some credit. After all, I didn't know you listened to _The Monkees,_ Richie."

For the first time since he arrived, Stan began to smile, pleased with this turn of events. "I didn't think your musical taste expanded beyond Guns N' Roses and Def Leppard."

Richie's initially cocky demeanor dissipated like mist under an afternoon sun, but he at least regained some of his composure and quick wit. "For your information Staniel, my _mother_ listens to The Monkees, _I_ don't. And if you wanna talk about which one of us has shitty taste in music-"

Interrupting before the subject could escalate into an all-out civil war, Carol said, "Okay, but are we ever actually going to jump?" While she was terrified of the prospect of it, she greatly developed an increasing desire to just get it all over with.

_Maybe if one of them goes first, it won't look as bad._

"C-C-Carol's right," Bill interrupted. "Who's going f-first?"

In almost complete unison, the five boys and one girl took a tentative step forward and peered cautiously over the precarious edge of the cliff at the quarry's waters far below. No one said a word, and they all knew why. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to make the boldest move.

"I'll go," a musical voice called merrily behind them.

The six turned around just in time to see Beverly Marsh letting her bike crash to the ground, making quick work of unbuttoning the white sundress she was wearing. Her ethereal red hair, once a long and wavy mane now cut short to a choppy yet spunky cap of scarlet curls, glimmered in the rays of the afternoon sun. She whipped off her dress and tossed it carelessly over onto her discarded bicycle, and Carol noticed that, like the others, Beverly was adorned only in her undergarments.

Beverly rushed toward them, crimson curls bouncing, a wide grin of joy and pleasure spreading across her face, which was made luminous in the sunlight. She ran right through them, yelling "Sissies!" as she leaped off the quarry cliff and into the open air, falling, dropping, flying.

Seeing Bev flying off the edge into the watery abyss below, Carol's mind was reminded of the lyrics of another of her favorite Bananarama songs, "Venus". And suddenly she was transported into a music video, Bev the focus as she launched herself into nothingness.

_Goddess on the mountaintop_

_Burning like a silver flame_

Well damn, if that wasn't Beverly Marsh right now.

"What the fuck?" Richie yelled, echoing the thought that undoubtedly was running through their minds; they were all stunned and amazed by Beverly's lack of hesitation and daring. He turned to face them, eyes filled with awe and amazement behind his thick-lensed specs. "We just got shown up by a girl!"

Carol took a few steps back from the cliff's edge, taking in the sight off Beverly's ginger head as she descended down and hit the water many meters down below with a splash. She couldn't be the only girl who had a boy jump before her. How would that look, being a sissy? They would never see the end of it. And yet, maybe she was doing this because Beverly's fire fueled the inner one within herself.

Maybe all she needed was a little gasoline.

Carol took a deep, steadying breath, backing away from the other boys. She muttered, "I'm going to regret this."

"Carol?"

"Carol, what're you-"

The voices of the boys blurred into background static, like the gentle buzz of the snow screen on a television set. Because Carol Chamblers was running, sprinting right through the middle of them like a bullet. Before she knew it, the ground evaporated beneath her, and she was airborne, giving a small shriek as her adrenaline levels skyrocketed. As she plummeted, however, she began to laugh and whoop with excitement, because she felt like she was flying. Not falling, or even floating, but as if she were caught in an endless loop of time, forever suspended in the air as the faint summer breeze whipped her hair and grazed her skin. She had forgotten that she couldn't swim, or that she barely knew the kids she was with, or Donna's disappearance, or all the bizarre and horrific events that plagued her day and night. As she fell down into the quarry below, she was liberated of it all. Carol was free.

As she continued to look down, Carol finally comprehended the sight of the quarry waters rushing up to meet her. It was then that she was jerked out of her joyous daze, suddenly remembering her lack of swimming skills._ Oh God, this is gonna suck,_ she whined internally, bracing herself.

Water engulfed her vision until all she could see was blue, then an icy jolt consumed her body and she was submerged in an endless world of murky darkness. She held her breath, trying to regain some control of her senses as she adjusted to this rapid change of surroundings, propelling herself upward toward the surface. But no matter how hard she swam, she never broke the liquid sheet that separated her from the dry world. _How far down am I?_ Carol wondered as she began to panic, struggling harder to swim.

Just when she began to accept the fact that she may never reach the surface, her hands and head eventually broke through the water, sunlight blinding her eyes, which were then accustomed to the darkness, and leaving her gasping for air. Beverly was swimming toward her, and she was not far away.

"You good?" Beverly questioned as the other girl blinked the droplets of water out of her eyes.

"Yeah," Carol replied, craning her neck and glancing up to where the five boys still stood at the edge of the precipice. They all shared anxious and daring looks with each other, urging anyone besides themselves to make the first jump, yet still worried that they would look like sissies since the only two girls in their party were the first two to take the dive. _If I can do it, then they shouldn't have a problem._

"Come on!" Beverly yelled up to the boys, laughing and splashing about in the quarry's waters. "Girls!" she teased. Carol couldn't help but laugh as well as she attempted to tread in the deeper section of the water.

The boys followed the lead of the girls and, one by one, jumped off the cliff into the water below where they were. With the sunshine of the early afternoon illuminating their faces and sparkling the surface of the quarry's waters with dazzling light, Carol was completely absorbed into the present moment, all past worries and fears that might have lingered suddenly dissipated.

The group of seven did indeed have a joyous time in the water. The boys and girls swam over to the shallower part of the quarry, Carol's swim strokes more akin to doggy paddling. Quite a bit of splashing and a rather intense game of Chicken Fight ensued, in which even Carol participated in. They even spotted a turtle drifting about in the murky depths beneath their treading feet. All of them had their share of ducking under the surface for a glimpse, and Carol recalled the faint, smudged brown outline of the turtle's shell as it moved about nonchalantly, unaware of the kids' antics or simply having not a care in its oblivious, simplistic world.

After all their aquatic games became dull and uninteresting, the seven teenagers swam ashore and onto the dry land, where the baking, summer Maine sun would dry them off. Richie retrieved the boombox that he had brought with him as the rest spread out among the rocks, Beverly putting on a pair of rather enlarged sunglasses in the blaze of the afternoon light. Richie turned on some music, and they were all startled as "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin blared from its speakers at full volume. He complied and lowered the sound, especially after some complaints from Bill, Stan, and Eddie, and played Def Leppard's "Photograph" at a much more reasonable level of sound. Carol herself spread out her towel on a rather large, smooth rock and sat down in the shade of the trees.

Carol found herself rather surprised that she was actually enjoying her time with the boys and Beverly. Usually when she was around unfamiliar peers, or basically anyone who wasn't a member of her social circle, she would find herself to be very uncomfortable and socially awkward. However, this didn't seem to be the case with the six she was with. She felt welcome among them, at peace, and she felt as if she had finally found where she belonged. Hell, she'd even call them her friends at this point, and it didn't even appear so strange to her, which it would have a day or two before.

Richie's rock n' roll music concluded and Young MC's "Bust A Move" started to play instead. Carol sighed, exasperated. At least she _liked_ Def Leppard and Led Zeppelin.

However, as the music played, she followed the gazes of the boys to where Beverly lay on her towel a few feet away, skin showing and sunglass-clad face turned upward to the sun. It wasn't just Bill and Ben that were gawking, it was all of them. The whole exchange again reminded her of the lyrics to "Venus".

_Her weapons were her crystal eyes_

_Making every man a man_

Carol rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. _What's it gotta take for a girl to get noticed 'round here? Ginger hair? A pack of cigarettes handy?_

But she wasn't _jealous_ of Beverly. The other girl couldn't _help_ looking like the second coming of Marilyn Monroe or Judy Garland. In fact, Carol was quite content with her average looks and body. It meant less unwanted attention and, despite her new blossoming friendships, Her Rule still for the most part remained in effect.

Beverly shifted her head toward the others just the slightest, but it was enough to send the other boys' eyes in several different directions out of embarrassment and nervous energy. Richie, desperately in search of something to do or say, snatched Ben's backpack and rooted through it.

"News flash, Ben!" Richie called in another decidedly horrible accent, this one of a disc jockey or radio announcer. "School's out for the summa!" He had just discovered the newer member's plethora of books and binders. He plucked up a postcard and gazed at it with mild interest, but Ben snatched it back before the other boy could catch a good glimpse of it. Not even the least deterred, Richie pulled out a stuffed folder. "What's with the history project?"

At this point, Beverly had sat up from her towel, and the others had turned to Ben's collection, their interest piqued.

"Oh," Ben started, aware that all eyes were on him. He began to explain as the papers were passed around the group. "Well, when I first moved here, I didn't really have anyone to hang out with, so I just started spending time in the library."

Richie looked from the folder to Ben, an incredulous yet humorous look spreading across his face. "You went to the _library_?" He seemed about to burst out in laughter. "On _purpose_?"

"Beep beep, Richie," Stan scolded in a monotone voice, as if the saying was worn out with time and usage.

Carol turned to the boy with confusion. "Why do you tell him to 'beep beep'?"

Bill took the liberty of explaining. "I-I-It's to tell him t-to slow down before he goes t-too far."

She nodded in understanding. "So like Road Runner."

Meanwhile, Beverly had gotten up completely and was walking to them. "Oh, I wanna see." She sat down next to Bill, who was currently possessing Ben's research.

Stan glanced over at the current page. "What's the Black Spot?"

"The Black Spot was a nightclub that was burned down years ago by that racist cult," Richie informed. Indeed, Carol had too heard the tale from both her grandmother and her parents, of all the people that burned inside. She always cautioned herself not to ruminate on it for too long, as it was just another one of Derry's many horror stories.

"What?" Stan exclaimed in disbelief.

Richie replied, "Don't you watch _Geraldo_?"

Bill, however, had turned his attention to Bev, his eyes searching for the right words to say, "You-you're hair," he started.

Bev waited patiently for him to continue, although now she appeared rather anxious and self conscious, reaching up to touch her now shortened ginger locks tenderly.

Carol watched the increasingly awkward scene unfold, urging Bill to come up with a smooth response quickly. _Goddammit, Bill Denbrough. You better say something now._

It was Ben that swooped in and saved the day, much to her relief. "You're hair's beautiful, Beverly," he reassured the redhead with a sweet smile, which was obviously what Bill had wanted to say. Carol felt bad for the three: Ben for his hopeless crush, Bill for his stutter getting in the way, and Bev for having to endure a part of a love triangle she didn't even know existed.

"Oh," she replied, running a hand through her curly red mane. She looked slightly relieved, albeit a little disappointed. "Right. Thanks."

Richie, the comic relief that he was, asked Bill for the papers, which the other boy obliged. Carol, who was sitting near Richie, took a closer look with him. They were a bunch of Xeroxed newspaper headlines from the Derry paper, all with the same grim and cryptic headlines. "Why's it all missing kids?" he questioned Ben, attempting and unable to find any humor in the collection.

"Derry's not like any town I've ever been in before," Ben stated, as Stan and Eddie also crowded around Carol and Richie for a closer glance. "They did a study once. It turns out, people die or disappear six times the national average."

Carol glanced up and stared at the boy with morbid interest. "Seriously? I've lived here for five years, and I've never known that."

Bev asked, "You read that?" Her voice was low and soft, and Carol could assume that even she didn't know that particular piece of information.

He nodded solemnly. "And that's just grownups. The kids are worse." He looked around at the others, his face that of a storyteller spinning ghost stories around a campfire and not finding an ounce of humor in it. "_Way_, way worse."

The rest shared a single knowing look, and Carol didn't need any damn telepathy to know what the group was collectively thinking. The missing kids. George. Donna.

"I've got more stuff at my house," Ben continued. He met each one of the group's eyes with a suddenly bright and eager smile. "You wanna see?"

Some, such as Eddie, looked less than eager to read more headlines about all the dead and missing peoples of Derry. Others, such as Carol, felt a rush of excitement. She herself found the topic particularly fascinating, and was desperate to uncover whatever secrets their small town was harboring. While others might have found the subject unsettling, which indeed it was, she wasn't all that bothered by the topic. One of her many nonfiction books, besides rock n' roll texts and biographies, was centered around serial killers, conspiracy theories, and unexplainable deaths. And besides, maybe there were clues within the research on the disappearances of Donna and the other children.

Carol snatched the papers out of Richie's hands and glanced at the Xeroxed, black and white photos for a final time before handing them back to Ben. "I'm in."

…

Eventually, all of the teenagers were on board for observing the rest of Ben's research, Bill, Bev, and Carol the most eager of the seven. The group hopped onto their bicycles once they were clear of the wilderness of the Barrens and pedaled down the road to the Hanscom residence, their soon-to-be host leading the way.

Carol had to make sure to bike on the slower side, as Stardust was one of the fastest and she could easily pull ahead in front of Ben. Instead, she kept beside Bill and Bev for the majority of the way, Bill's bike also being rather speedy as well.

"I-I'm sorry about Donna," Bill brought up to her on the journey there, glancing to the right while pushing hard on the pedals.

She looked over to face him, somewhat surprised. "I didn't know you remembered Donna."

"W-W-We had every c-class together," he explained to her. "I-It must be hard on her twin."

"Deborah's not the same anymore. Neither's Tabitha, my other friend. None of us are, really."

Bill nodded, solemn. "My p-parents aren't the same, either. Not since G-G-Georgie went missing. It's like they're b-broken."

That's exactly the word: broken. "Yeah, I'm sorry about your brother. How old was he?"

He swallowed before answering. "Six."

Noting the cloudiness of Bill's eyes and deciding to change the subject, Carol pointed out his bike. "Is your bike called Silver? Is that why you wrote it on the side?"

"Y-Yeah," he told her, brightening up a little now that the conversation had steered into a more pleasant direction. "I-I got it when I was a kid. I named it after t-the Lone R-Ranger's horse."

"Oh, really?" she asked, interested. That would explain the origin, as his bicycle was more of a metallic gray rather than silver. "Do you like westerns a lot?"

"I l-loved them as a kid," he said, a smile spreading across his face.

"I named my bike Stardust," she pointed out. "I named it after the song 'Ziggy Stardust', of course. It was one of my favorite tunes at that age."

He asked, "Are you a big David Bowie fan?"

"You bet," she answered with a grin. "I wrote an essay on him for English once. I just love music. Bring up Bowie, The Beatles, or any other band, and I won't shut up."

Bill chuckled. "I s-s-should've guessed by your R-Rolling Stones t-shirt. The Rolling S-Stones are good. The Beatles are, too. My m-mom, she used to play their _R-Rubber Soul _album a lot."

"_Rubber Soul_ is a great album! I really like _Revolver_, too. And _Magical Mystery Tour._" She laughed. "You know what? They're all good." Then she smiled. "How did we get from talking about our bikes' names to this?"

He laughed as well. "I-I think it started with D-David Bowie."

"Right," she said. "You know what? We should race sometime; see who's bike's the fastest."

Bill grinned. "You're on."

It was not long after their conversation ended that Ben made a turn and pulled up to modest looking home. Carol was surprised by how close the other boy lived near her; maybe only a street or two away.

The group set down their bikes and followed Ben up to the front door, Eddie and Richie lagging behind after the handlebars of Eddie's bike snagged on his fanny pack and sent him crashing to the ground with it, Richie staring him down with laughter behind his enlarged glasses. But it was not this sight that caught the brunette girl's attention; it was a woman who had just walked away from a nearby telephone pole, which bore a new sheet of paper.

It could only mean one thing: a missing poster.

Somebody was missing.

Curious, yet plagued with anxious anticipation, Carol broke off from the rest of the group and over to the pole, where the new black and white photo of a child was staring back with lifeless, frozen eyes. But, upon closer inspection, she realized, startled, that the new vanished person was not even a child at all.

Instead, she stared back into the chilling and unsmiling face of Patrick Hockstetter, his default unnerving expression forever frozen in time by the monotone snap of a camera lense. She only did a quick scan of the following information, but it was similar enough to Donna's and the others that she rarely bothered.

How long had he been missing? Forty-eight hours? Twenty-four? She felt that she shouldn't care all that much. After all, this was _Patrick Hockstetter_, cronie of Henry Bowers, the boy who kept dead flies in his pencil box and was rumored to torture animals. Hell, this kid even claimed himself that he'd set stray dogs and cats _on fire_. Yet Carol couldn't help but feel a sense of unrelenting dread gazing at his poster, as if he had met some horrifying fate off in the darkness of Derry to be never seen again.

_Good riddance_, she told herself.

"Hurry up, Sleepy Jean!" Richie called to her, Eddie having finally collected himself and was furiously dusting the dirt off his legs. "Ben's Xerox murder collection's a-waitin'!"

"Coming, Rich! Jeez!" she answered, all in good humor. But even as she walked away, the black and white face of the teenage boy kept creeping back into her mind, like a cockroach that kept crawling back up the toilet, no matter how many times you flushed it down the drain.

_Why do I feel so worried about it?_ she asked herself. _And why does it make me think of bugs?_

She followed the others to the front door, which Ben had unlocked via the use of his house key. Upon entering, Carol noted that the space was not particularly outstanding. It kind of reminded her of the house she lived in with her grandmother: just enough stuff for a couple of people to get by.

"I live here with my mom," Ben explained to the others. "We don't have much stuff 'cause we used to move around a lot. She won't be home for another hour or two."

The boy led them down the hall and turned to a wooden door, presumably his bedroom. The other teenagers were quiet, save for Richie, who was already deeply engrossed in a conversation mostly with himself. Ben opened the door for them, and as they followed their host inside, Carol took in the sight before her.

Ben's bedroom was almost like any other ordinary thirteen year old's room. He had a bookshelf stacked with novels and encyclopedias, a desk with papers strewn about, and she even noticed a cardboard box at the foot of his bed full of cassette tapes. But there was one major detail that differentiated Ben's room from their own: the walls. Like the newspaper headlines in his folder, Ben's bedroom walls were plastered head to toe with Xeroxed black and white photos and newspaper clippings, all of them on mysterious deaths and disappearances within Derry. It even went beyond that, ranging to papers torn out of informational texts and notes that were most indefinitely scribbled by Ben himself while doing his research in the library.

The other six stared around the walls of his bedroom, awestruck and fascinated. Carol herself was shocked by the amount of time and effort Ben had divulged into his research. _How does he sleep with all those creepy ass headlines by his bed?_

Richie had abruptly abandoned his current conversation with Eddie to take in the environment around him. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa!_" he breathed in a whisper, with what Ben presumed to be amazement or awe.

"Cool, huh?" he suggested, appearing thoroughly proud of himself to impress his new comrades.

Richie, however, shook his head without tearing his gaze away from the plastered walls. "No, no, nothing cool." He then took the liberty to investigate the remainder of Ben's room, which the other boy did not oppose. "Oh, _this_ is cool right here! Wait, no, no, it's not cool."

Carol rolled her eyes and turned away, more interested in Ben's findings rather than amused by the boy's snarkiness. As much as she had grown to admire Richie, she knew it was his way of grabbing attention.

Stan, who had been scanning the papers pinned to the wall with mounting intrigue, pointed to one sheet in particular on the far end of the room. "What's that?"

Ben followed his gaze and walked over to receive a better view. "Oh, that? That's the charter for Derry Township." The others had also crowded around the two, to also receive a glance and to hear Ben's explanation.

"Nerd alert!" Richie proclaimed, adjusting his glasses jauntily. Carol sent an amused glance his way that said, _That's mighty ironic, coming from you._

"You say so yourself," she told him, and the two grinned, having her send a jibe to the jokester.

"No, it's actually really interesting," Ben defended, steadfast and proud of his information. "Derry started as a beaver trapping camp."

Richie could not help himself and pass an opportunity by declaring, "Still is! Am I right, boys?" He held up his hand for a high-five, but Stan simply shook his head, unamused. Eddie and Carol had similar reactions. Bill remained engrossed in the conversation, while Beverly's eyes began to wander elsewhere.

"Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry," Ben continued, "but later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace."

"The whole camp?" Eddie questioned, a combination of curiosity and nervousness in his voice.

"There were rumors of Indians, but no sign of an attack," he answered, his eyes solemnly set on the charter. "Everybody just thought it was a plague or something, but it's just like one day, everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the Well House."

The ominous creaking of the closing bedroom door drew all of their attention back to the front of the room, where Beverly stood with a good-natured smirk playing on her lips. Posted on the back of Ben's door was a poster that stretched top to bottom, featuring New Kids On The Block.

Ben groaned, embarrassed that Bev had discovered the truth about his obsession with the band. Carol, however, patted him on the back, humored.

"Don't worry, Ben," she reassured, a grin spreading across her face. "You're not the only one with tons of band posters. Wait till you see _my_ room."

Bill, still engrossed in the story of the original disappearances in Derry, asked a further question. "W-Where was the Well House?"

Ben turned around and shrugged, genuinely not knowing the exact answer. "I don't know. Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?"

Bill returned his gaze back to the photos and articles displayed across the wall, almost as if entranced. "Nothing," he replied with a slight shake of his head.

But Carol knew it was more than that.

…

The group of seven stayed at the Hanscom residence for a while longer after observing Ben's collection, and they hung out in his bedroom, further strengthening their existing bonds.

Ben informed them that he was interested in pursuing a architectural career path, and introduced them to some plans and projects that he had been designing. They were all impressed, Beverly's support meaning the most, especially when he revealed his designs for a clubhouse. The remainder of the time, they hung out on the floor and encouraged Ben to play his New Kids On The Block records until his mother, Arlene, returned home from work.

Since then, the new friends departed and went their separate ways. Carol hopped onto Stardust and pedaled onward toward home, which she believed wouldn't be that far.

She did stop briefly on her journey, only when she realized that Donna and Deborah Reese's house was on Ben's street. She pulled up and parked in front of their open driveway and took the image in. The pretty house that hosted two of her close friends, with faded blue siding, an assortment of bushes out front, and a front yard with grass just slightly growing out of control. She recalled with a bittersweet pang all of her earlier memories of the joys and fun times she shared with her friends at this very house, and knew she would most likely never spend time over there again.

Not desiring to linger on such nostalgic musings for terribly long, Carol carried on as the afternoon sun began to sink ever so gradually into the later hours of the June evening. A low wind gently whipped around her brown hair and fondled her slightly oversized The Rolling Stones t-shirt gently, all the while she hummed The Beatles song "Across The Universe".

_"Nothing's gonna change my world,"_ she gently sang to herself, merely a soft breath escaping her lips. _"Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world…"_

The melodic words slowly faded away as an unusual sight greeted her unassuming eyes. Around a nearby street corner, some kid was running, sprinting as if for his own life. Carol put a pause on her bike ride and stared, trying to better catch a glimpse of the boy and his probable pursuer. A jolt of shock shot up her body as she realized who exactly the kid was.

"Eddie?"

* * *

**AN: Bet you weren't expecting that ending, huh?**

**I deeply apologize for not uploading this in, like, over a month. I'm still in high school, and it's all been extremely busy lately. The state I live in is one of the ones starting to get affected by the coronavirus, so all school's in my state have been issued an extended spring break (_I live in the United States, in case you didn't already know_). The good news about this though is that it gives me more time to write and spend time on this site, which should make up for my temporary absence. Since the coronavirus is pretty much global now, I hope you all stay safe and healthy. My advice is to take it seriously, but don't let it put a damper on your day. Spread love, not germs.**

**In terms of the story, this chapter is the longest I've ever written! It also contains a ton of musical references, but that's partly because of me listening to my playlist whilst I write. We got to see Carol interact with the Losers, as well as some Ben/Carol and Bill/Carol friendship. Hopefully, we will get to see some similar scenes with Eddie and Carol in the next chapter.**

**Also, I decided that in each Author's Note at the end of each chapter, I will include a quick fact about my OC Carol. Today's: Carol's name was almost Dorothy Judith instead of Carol Denise, as her mother Lucille's favorite movie as a child was _The Wizard of Oz._**

**_Hermione Romanoff: As always, glad to see you enjoyed the last chapter! Yes, the scene at the end in the bathtub was partly a reference to the novel, and partly to the 1990 miniseries shower scene as well. I included a few more novel references in this chapter, too._ (I am also enjoying "A New Family" and your new story, "Rivers Of Blood"!)**

_**BarbyChan4ever: Thank you for all the kind words! I'm glad to see you enjoy my story so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. **_**The Breakfast Club **_**is also one of my favorite movies as well. A classic!**_

**~ Robin M.**


	7. Vanish In The Haze

Chapter 7: Vanish In The Haze

_"When I was younger, so much younger than today_

_I never needed anybody's help in any way_

_But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured_

_Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors"_

_-The Beatles, "Help!"_

* * *

Carol was planted to the seat of her bicycle, face contorted with confusion and concern as she made eye contact with the other boy. Eddie's small, pale face was stricken with panic, his brown eyes wide with terror and desperation. His knees, she noticed, were stained with grass, which was highly unusual for the boy, as he was probably one of the cleanest people she had ever the pleasure of knowing. Despite this, his undoubtedly fatigued legs still found the strength to bolt, which he continued to do so.

"Eddie?" Carol called yet again, at a greater level of volume this time.

It was then that Eddie finally turned his head in her direction to face her, his eyes, which were dark brown pools of terror, finally filling with recognition. And yet, there was a visible wariness within them. Nevertheless, once he spotted her, he finally slowed down to a halt, gasping for breath wretchedly.

Pushing down on the steady pedals of Stardust, Carol made her way over to the other boy, hopping off once she had fully reached him.

"Hey Eddie, what happened?" she questioned with great concern, cautiously absorbing the image of his distressed appearance. "You look like hell. Are you alright?"

As Eddie crouched down on the pavement with fatigue, breaths coming in abrupt inhales, words began to tumble out of his mouth choppily like the flow of water down a waterfall. "I was... walking home and... at Neibolt... time to… my medicine... there was... I was… chasing me.."

"Woah woah woah!" Carol exclaimed, kneeling down beside him by the sidewalk in an attempt to calm down the boy's nerves. "Eddie, you know what? Don't talk, don't talk. Just take some deep breaths, okay? I don't want you to choke on your own tongue or something."

Eddie's head whipped in her direction to face her in horror, eyes wide with newly ignited panic.

_Shit!_ The kid was already petrified, and here she was making it all the more worse. "Godammit, I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! You know what? That's not gonna happen. Your tongue is fine, it's fine. Do you need anything?"

Amid several more of those abrupt, choppy breaths, he wheezed, "My… inhaler…"

She nodded rapidly, understanding and trying to maintain her composure, for both of their sakes. "Okay. Okay. Gotcha. I'll get it for you." Reaching for the black fanny pack around his waist, she unzipped it and rummaged amongst all of the bottles of pills, band aids, and whatever other health nut drugs he kept secured inside. Amidst her scrounging, she thought, _It's like he has a whole first-aid kit inside this thing. Jesus Christ, this kid is a walking pharmacy._

Finally, Carol uncovered his inhaler and handed it to Eddie. He grasped it shakily, chest still rattling for breath like a dead tree's branches being rattled by a December storm. He took a puff, rather quickly, and then another. With each one, his breaths became steadier and slowed, color gradually filling his ghostly complexion like a sunrise. And yet, the boy did not seem well at all. It was his eyes, unsettled and disturbed, that still swam and sparkled with unsaid horror.

"Thanks, Carol," Eddie finally said, his breathing having returned almost entirely to normal. Although he was no longer in the process of using his inhaler, he still kept it clenched in one small, white fist.

"No problem," she replied. "Eddie, what the hell happened? You were running like Freddy Krueger was after you."

Eddie hesitated to recollect his thoughts within his undoubtedly scattered brain, and gulped before he started. He confessed, "I left Ben's house and was walking home, and… I saw something."

"Wait, why were you walking home?" Carol asked him, mildly puzzled. "Why didn't you ride your bike?"

"It had a flat," Eddie explained. "Richie told me he would come back and get it after he went home, and he asked me if I wanted him to drop me off, but I told him I was fine walking by myself. It was getting late, and my Mom was going to flip her shit if I wasn't home before the curfew, and I knew I couldn't make it in time before the curfew ended walking, so I took a shortcut onto Neibolt Street."

Something ominously shifted inside of Carol at the mention of Neibolt Street, as if a light switch was suddenly flipped on within her and transformed her body into the consistency of strawberry jelly. Despite the late afternoon June heat, she neglected to notice the goosebumps slowly emerging on the pale skin of her arms. After all, last time she had taken Neibolt Street, it had resulted in a scarring experience that frightened her to her very core.

She would have to get used to that in the weeks to come.

Eddie took a shaky inhale of breath before continuing. "And I was walking down the street and everything was fine, and then I saw that old abandoned house." The small boy seemed to shiver with disbelief and disgust at the memory. "I wanted to run, but I couldn't, so I just stood there, staring at it. And then, I heard some fucking voice…"

(_Come back, Carol. We've been hungry…_)

"My timer went off, and I realized it was time to take my allergy medication, but I ended up spilling all my meds, and while I was picking them up…" He paused for a steadying breath. "I saw a leper."

Carol blinked, then twice, not quite sure if she understood him correctly. "A leper?" He nodded. "You sure that's who you saw? Not, like, a really disgusting homeless person or something?"

He shook his head hastily. "No, it was a leper. I know because my mom showed me pictures, warning me that's what happens when you don't stay clean and take medicine. It… he started chasing me, so I ran behind the house and I didn't stop, but…" He trailed off, and it was this that disturbed her.

She questioned, "It didn't get you, did it? You got away."

Yet again, the boy shook his head at her statement. "No, I got away, but when I turned back, it… it was gone."

_Just like the missing kids,_ Carol thought. _The dead ones. The zombies._

_And then… _

("_Carol, there's something floating! There's something floating in my tummy!"_)

She wanted to ask. She wanted to question him if he saw something else, a clown more specifically. Just some assurance that she wasn't the only one; she _couldn't_ be the only one. But the words were heavy on her tongue, unrelenting and unmoving like the corpse of a beached whale, even though she desperately desired answers, some assurance that she wasn't the only one.

Eddie glanced up at the sky, realization setting in as he quietly swore under his breath. "Fuck, it's getting late. My mom's gonna kill me! I need to get home fast!" Indeed, the afternoon sun was continuing to cross the sky, gradually falling lower and lower towards the horizon.

Although Carol still felt the urge to ask him about his mysterious and terrifying encounter on Neibolt further, she felt somewhat relieved at the change in subject matter. It _was_ getting late. And besides, if Eddie was even remotely anything like her, running from your ghastly pursuer was sure to be tiresome.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't sweat it," she assured the boy. "I can give a ride home if you want. Your house can't be that far away."

He nodded as he scrambled back onto his feet, relief visibly sweeping over his features as he realized he didn't have to face his mother's frantic fussing should he arrive home late even a minute after the curfew. "Okay, thanks Carol. I can give you directions as we go."

"No problem," she answered, climbing back onto the weathered leather seat of Stardust. "Climb on and we'll get you home."

Eddie obliged and hopped on behind her, Carol pushing on the old pedals and riding down the street as he gave her the directions to his residence. And while the girl paid close attention and followed them, her mind was elsewhere. She was busy trying to make sense of it all. Eddie's encounter with the leper. Her being chased by the reanimated corpses of the vanished children.

_Both happened at Neibolt,_ she connected. _But why? Something's definitely up there_.

But what could it be? Maybe Eddie was just chased by a leper and it had nothing to do with Carol's experience. After all, she knew all too well the troubling variety of loonies that made a temporary residence at that abandoned house, homeless winos and drug addicts certain to be plagued by disease. But if she saw zombies, undead children, wasn't it possible that what Eddie saw was the real deal? That it was actually some sick bastard stricken with leprosy?

_Zombies aren't supposed to be real. They're urban legends and movie monsters. It doesn't matter how real they look on a screen, they don't exist. Those kids are dead or missing, and nothing more._ _But I _know _what I saw!_

So maybe he was right. Maybe they _both_ were. But it still didn't make any more sense.

And why the _clown?_ She was never scared of clowns before. Well, _now_ she was, after seeing that _thing_ with it's maniacal Cheshire Cat grin and gore splattered costume. But what did it have to do with anything she saw, or whatever Eddie saw for that matter, which she still had yet to confirm?

These thoughts engulfed her brain like a wave aroused by a violent storm swallowing a ship lost at sea. Except she refused to let it sink to the dark ocean floor below. She needed to _know_, or else she was going to be driven insane.

Eventually, the duo pulled up to the house that Eddie claimed to be the residence of him and his mother. The afternoon was slowly dying. The boy hopped off of Stardust as Carol stayed glued to the seat, gripping the handlebars firmly.

"You gonna be okay?" she asked her friend. "You want me to stay a little bit? My grandma probably wouldn't mind."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Richie's coming by anyway to drop off my bike soon."

"Okay then." She was preparing to make her journey back to her own residence, when she turned back to Eddie. "You know you're gonna be safe here. It can't get you when you're inside."

Eddie's eyes shifted. It was apparent that he was still fearful of the leper that chased him back by Neibolt house. Or something else. "You don't know that."

Carol deflated, sighing lightly. Because what did she know? "I know. Bye, Eddie."

The boy bid farewell to her in return as he made his way up to his front door, fiddling with the keys he had stored in his fanny pack. Carol was already halfway down the street and ready to go home.

_The clown,_ she recalled, shuddering at the mere word. _Why do I keep thinking about the clown?_

As she passed a sewer drawing at the side of the road, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she was being watched.

…

It was very near twilight when she arrived home. Carol noted that all the lights within the house were diminished, save for the faint glow of the television screen in the living room. She could see it from the window out front as she made her way up the driveway on Stardust, and came to the conclusion that her grandmother Ethel was most likely in her rocker in front of the TV watching some movie as she routinely did most nights. Carol let herself in.

The first thing she did was make her way straight to the kitchen, where she fixed herself up some leftover spaghetti that she found in the fridge. Spock had come to greet her, and she regularly stroked the short white fur of his head as she ate. After she had finished her meal, she washed her plate and silverware, and was finally ready to call it a day.

As she passed through the living room on the way to her door, she noted that Ethel was indeed reclined in her rocker in front of the television. The first Indiana Jones movie was playing upon the screen, though it was evident the older woman was not watching as she was fast asleep. Harrison Ford's face was reflected off of her glasses.

Carol stood behind the rocker and stared down at her grandmother, silently observing her sleeping features. She pitied her grandma, she really did, though for what reason the granddaughter found hard to comprehend. Maybe it was the elder woman's oblivious attitude towards the town of Derry, or in Carol's own life. She had no idea what these children were going through, and wouldn't want to believe it anyway. Carol had gotten her to believe that she had an infinite knowledge of her grandchild when she only knew a fraction.

"'Night, Grandma," Carol mumbled, grasping a nearby blanket and spreading over Ethel's sleeping form. She would leave the TV on. The sound of the television would make excellent background noise, as she hated to sleep in a completely silent house.

When she reached her bedroom, Carol changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers of her bed. The room was relatively dark space for the moonlight that leaked through the glass pane of her window and onto her carpet.

_What a wild day_, the young teen thought surreptitiously to herself. She lay in bed for another hour or two, thoughts spinning madly across her mind, before she let herself succumb to a much needed slumber that felt like bliss sinking into it.

That night, Carol dreamt, and although she would not remember the exact sequence when she awoke the next morning, the feeling would linger with her still. In her dreams, the darkness was filled with cries for help.

* * *

**AN: As you can see, I am not dead.**

**So... I'm just going to brush the dust off of this right here. Wow, it's really been forever. I am so sorry for not uploading in months. Last time I uploaded I was a year younger lmao. Life has just been crazy here for me, especially with everything that is going on in the world right now as well as my personal life. I went on vacation and afterwards went through some ups and downs, so I wasn't in much of a writing mood. But I haven't abandoned this story, I am determined to finish it! And also, I have written ahead a little bit and have part of the eighth chapter written, so look forward to that!**

**Speaking of writing ahead, I ALSO wrote the rough draft for the last three chapters of the story. Look at your home girl being productive. They're nowhere near perfect yet, but at least I have a good idea for how the story will end. I remember writing out parts of the epilogue and thinking, _I'm not ready for these feels yet_. Not even halfway done and I'm already getting emotional, but we're just getting started! And no, I will not give away how it ends. You all will have to stay tuned for that ;).**

**And as for THIS chapter, it is shorter than usual, (most of my chapters I have noticed are about 5,000 words) but that was intentional, for the next one is going to be rather long. That is a lie, it might be the longest chapter yet. I am very excited not only to dive deeper in Carol's involvement in the Losers' Club, but also into the individual friendships she develops with each Loser along the way. Next chapter will involve the Losers coming over to Beverly's apartment, which I know you are all excited for!**

**Also, I have been really busy making Spotify playlists for this story. One is a mixtape of Carol's favorite songs. Another is of iconic horror movie soundtracks and instrumentals that I listen to while writing this story. The last is the official tracklist for "Kid Fears", but that won't be released until later. If you want to check these out, let me know and I will tell you what they are in a PM.**

**And also guys, please stay safe. Things are getting bad again in my state. As I always say, SPREAD LOVE, NOT GERMS.**

_**Hermione Romanoff: I'm glad that the last chapter was your favorite, it was probably mine as well! Hope you like this one and I will be uploading the next one MUCH sooner.**_

_**BarbyChan4ever: I'm happy that you enjoyed that chapter! I too am excited to write more about Carol's interactions with the Losers' Club. There will be a lot of that in the next chapter, as well as plenty of action!**_

**~ Robin M.**


End file.
